


Only if for a Night

by TheBoneWitch



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU modern, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bodyguard, Complete, Fluff, Gay, Jet (Avatar) Lives, Jet isn't an asshole, Jet isn't crazy, M/M, New York, Past Abuse, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Stalker(not Jet), Sweet, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko isn't angry, but the awkward kind, purely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 67,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBoneWitch/pseuds/TheBoneWitch
Summary: There were many different types of kisses and most served a purpose to convey emotions, and while Jet wasn't always the best with his words, he was pretty good with his lips.Something nice and warm bloomed like sunshine in Zuko's stomach, fluttering up his throat and coming out with a sigh.Jet pulled them apart with his eyes still closed, fingers still trapping Zuko's chin, hand still clenched around his shirt collar.He opened his reddened lips to say something but Zuko beat him to the punch, "Don't say sorry," he said quickly."Okay," Jet sighed, peeking at the teenager.But Zuko had tasted like his mom's cooking and smelled like spring air and hair gel.Slowly he unclenched his fingers from his shirt collar and swiped his thumb over Zuko's lips, making the teenager's heart try and leap from his chest.
Relationships: Jet/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 165
Kudos: 212





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Zuko isn't as angry as he is in the show  
> Jet isn't too much of an asshole and isn't an orphan because I can't mentally handle writing that much pain and I love the idea that Jet has loving parents, therefore not allowing him to become a raging asshole

Jet stood like he always did, level gaze, legs apart, and hands clasped in front of him. His sunglasses allowed him to survey the room without telling the audience where he was looking.

The large building was dreadfully cold, the air vent above his head was pouring out ice cold air down is back and head. He could ignore the frigid air all the same, but his client could not. Zuko didn’t do well in cold. Most of the business convention was in Mandarin and Japanese, a language that Jet's high school didn't bother preparing him for. It was supposed to be in English, but it often fell back to the multiple languages of the businessmen, who all seemed to speak at least four different languages fluently.

Agni Ozai had brought his son to the meeting because he was under the impression that his son, Agni Zuko, wanted to be a stockbroker like his father. Jet knew for a fact, that since he had spent almost every night supervising the teenager for the past year, that Zuko wanted nothing to do with the stock market, of any country. Zuko wanted to sing and write songs and play his piano and violin.

The teenager had pretended to pay attention at the beginning of the meeting. But when the hours stretched on, and his father no longer looked at his son or even remembered that he was in the room, Zuko nodded off in his chair despite the constant yelling.

Jet couldn't help himself; it was amusing watching the kid fall asleep. His eyes would slowly roll to the back of his head, and his chin would slip from the palm of his hand. He would jerk awake from the force of falling, and sit up straight again, only to repeat the whole process over again. Jet suppressed a smile when he heard the seventeen-year-old snore quietly. He slowly sidestepped closer to Zuko's chair and nudged him the shoulder with his elbow. Zuko startled awake and glanced around wildly. He caught Jet's eye and smirked despite the situation.

Zuko glanced down at his several thousand dollar watch and blinked slowly at the time. It was close to midnight.

The meeting was grueling, but it was finally winding down to the end, and if Jet knew anything, he knew that Ozai wouldn’t take kindly to Zuko being asleep.

Zuko was immediately the face of gratitude, walking around the room and bowing to the businessmen and thanking them profusely for letting him observe how businesses and stockbrokers worked. 

Jet followed the child prodigy out of the room, murmuring quietly into the microphone piece to the other guard that was in charge of Agni Ozai, that he was leaving the building with Zuko.

The change in Zuko was almost immediate. As soon as the door closed behind them, and his father was no longer able to see him, the immaculate posture of the teenager drooped into an exhausted slump. He ran his long piano fingers through his carefully coiffed hair, pulling it into disarray.

Usually, Jet would have scolded him to keep it together and stay alert until they got into the car, but he had to admit, the kid had a hard day. Not to mention that Jet had been with him through every step of it, and he too was ridiculously tired.

Jet unlocked the car from across the parking garage, starting the engine. If there were any explosives attached to the starting mechanisms, they would have been triggered while Zuko and Ozai were a safe distance away.

The black suburban started without a hitch.

Jet hopped into the front seat while Zuko gracefully lowered himself into the passenger side. He shrugged off the black suit blazer and tossed it into the backseat. Jet tried not to think about how the blazer cost more than his first car and how the kid was throwing it over his shoulder without a second thought.

Zuko ripped at the Armani tie at his throat, only satisfied once he looked utterly disheveled. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes with a sigh that was borderline lewd.

"Don't lie, was that not the most boring thing that you've ever sat through?" he asked, peeking open one Tawney eye at Jet.

Jet thought about it for a moment as he pulled the car out of the parking garage and into the street. Try as he might, keeping everything professional was getting hard, the kid had grown on him, less than a welcomed addition and more like a benign tumor, not a threat but definitely noticeable.

"I had a twelve-hour shift of surveillance when I was in Syria," Jet offered. "Stared at a tent flap for ten hours, and a guy go grocery shopping for two."

Zuko groaned and chuckled.

"Fine," he slyly looked at the older man. "Why do you always have to win?"

Jet couldn't help but smile.

"Too competitive, I guess."

Zuko grumbled incoherently and writhed in his seat until he was comfortable. It wasn't long before the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft sound of him breathing.

Jet let the kid sleep. The teenager was graduating with honors, was a part of every extracurricular imaginable and was valedictorian of his prestigious academy, he was barely getting four hours of sleep a night if he was lucky.

Half an hour later, Jet pulled up to the gates of the estate and flashed his ID card at the sensor. It read his information, and the gates clicked open, allowing them entrance.

The sprawling mansion was over the top, even for an estate. Three stories tall, twenty plus rooms and state of the art appliances and marble everything, it was too big. Jet had grown up in a three-bedroom apartment with his whole family of three sisters, Abuela and Abuelo, and both parents. He would have killed for that kind of floor space when he was a kid, he had to sleep on a bunk bed sharing a room with three teenage girls, but he wasn't envious of the Agnis now that he was older. It was just the three of them, Ozai, the father, Ursa, the mother, and Zuko, the only child. Never had he seen a family so arrogant and wealthy, and yet so un-in love with being a family.

He parked the car in the garage. He sat and listened to the suburban settle in the overly large garage that was full of sports cars that were never driven and kid bicycles that Zuko never had the time to ride, and was now a decade too old to even look at. Jet wouldn't be surprised if the seventeen-year-old even knew how to ride a bike.

The time on Jet's ten-dollar watch read quarter past midnight. Even though he could have happily stayed in the garage that was bigger than his apartment, Jet had to get the kid inside still.

"Mister Zuko," he called out gently. The kid was sleeping soundly, head tipped back, and lips parted ever so slightly. He looked so peaceful and strangely angelic that Jet just wanted to let him sleep.

"Mister Zuko," he said again, louder. He didn't even stir. Jet recalled how hard his mother had to shake him and yell for him to wake up when he was a teenager, so Jet reached out tentatively and prodded Zuko in the shoulder with his fingertip.

No reaction. So Jet did again while saying his name, and this time, Zuko responded with an annoyed groan.

"Five more minutes," he sighed and swatted at Jet's hand.

"No, you have to inside and go to sleep," Jet counter-argued.

With a yawn and a stretch, Zuko sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes like a child. With his hair fluffed up and eyes barely opened, it was hard to believe that the young man that was sitting before Jet was destined for an Ivy League college.

"Are you staying the night tonight?" he asked around a second yawn, stretching his arm behind his head. A pale strip of his stomach flashed from under his white shirt.

"Not tonight, you have DeMarco until tomorrow afternoon."

Zuko nodded like he was comprehending what Jet was saying, but the kid wasn't catching any of it. His eyelids started to droop again.

As Jet half herded the partially conscious teenager up two flights of stairs and around several priceless vases sitting on precarious shelves, Jet wondered if it would have been a better idea just to sling the teenager over his shoulder and carry him. If it weren't for the risk of a housekeeper or the security cameras catching him, it would have been hardly a chore. Zuko weighed maybe one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet and holding an encyclopedia. But it was entirely against every rule in the book for the bodyguards to touch their clients, especially if the client was the son of a millionaire tycoon who was always ready to knock heads together.

Jet opened Zuko's bedroom door and watched the teenager trip on his loafers and face plant into his king-sized bed.

Shaking his head and grinning at the sight, Jet closed the door behind him and went to clock out. He wouldn't be able to get back to his scrawny apartment back in the Bronx. He was more than half an hour away. On these nights, he was too exhausted to drive for half of an hour through Manhattan at midnight; he would just rent out a room in china town, that was less than five minutes away from the Agni mansion.

As soon as his head hit the pillow in the small, sterile motel room, like Zuko, Jet was out for the night.


	2. Late Night Talks

It was a Saturday night in the middle of April. Jet was with Zuko in his own personal kitchen. Half of the third floor has been converted into a lavish apartment for the teenager.

It was one of those nights that time didn't seem to apply, the clocks never seeming to move and a longing for something unknown aches in everyone's chest.

Jet sat at the breakfast bar with his laptop in front of him. Every feed from the building was up on the screen. No one would be getting past Jet.

Zuko padded barefoot from his bedroom, across his living room to the kitchen. Jet wouldn't have noticed what the teenager was wearing on any other night, but tonight was different.

Baggy gray sweatpants set low on his narrow hips and a tank top shirt with slit sides that curled in, showing off his lean body and pale skin.

He moved like a dancer, fluid movements in perfect uniform, lithe, silent steps, and specific placement of his feet that made it look like he was performing just for himself.

Jet didn't watch with his eyes, but every other sense followed the teenager around the room behind him. The click of the stove being turned on and water poured into the tea kettle, the opening of the cupboard, and two glasses being removed from the shelf. A shuffle through half-empty boxes of tea, then the smell of oolong and another tea that Jet couldn't remember the name of, but knew it was several hundred dollars for a pound of it. The few times that Jet had interacted with Zuko's eccentric uncle, Iroh, he had learned that the older man was a tea aficionado.

The water in the kettle boiled, the shrill scream of the pot the only noise in the room.

Zuko methodically poured the water into the cups and put in the tea bags.

Without a word, he set the oolong next to Jet and climbed on the counter.

In the beginning, Jet found it rather strange that the teenager would perch like a cat in the weirdest places, countertops, crouching on footstools, curled in the bathtub reading a book. Now, in the year that he'd known Zuko, Jet found it rather endearing. 

Zuko sat on the counter a few feet away from Jet, knees tucked under his chin, expensive tea untouched at his side. His shaggy haircut hid the left side of his face, but nothing could cover up the blooming red scar over his eye. Jet hadn't been informed about the cause of the injury, and he figured it wasn't his business. Of course, he wanted to know, but his self-control was just strong enough that he didn't ask. But just barely.

They didn't speak for a while. They didn't need to, for it was a night when time didn't exist.

The refrigerator clicked on, the hum and crackle of the ice maker startling them both.

Zuko was the first to speak. 

"I just finished a five thousand word essay on the complications of mitochondrial transference in parents of Jewish descent." He rested his cheek on his long legs, staring out the window. 

"I'm not even going to go into a biology major. I'm going for business." He spat out the word business with more disdain than Jet thought possible.

Jet didn't know what to say. This wasn't the first time Zuko had vented to him; he had found that keeping quiet and letting the teenager work it out for himself worked the best.

" _ Mama's _ pregnant." He said soberly. Jet glanced up and was ready to give congratulations, but the look of dread on Zuko's face stopped the words on his tongue.

" _ Papa _ was over the moon. He said he hopes it's a worthy heir this time." Emotion threatened to spill over from his eyes, but his voice was monotonous and void of care. 

"He already has an heir," Jet said. He was confused and completely disregarding his own personal rule about engaging in conversation with Zuko. He was shocked he had lasted this long, in all reality. Talking was not only something that Jet enjoyed, but he was also very good at it.

Zuko swiped at his nose, his black hair falling over his bloodshot eyes.

"He's ashamed of me. The baby will be born lucky. I was lucky to be born," his voice was dull and flat, the only show of emotion was that Zuko grabbed a handful of the left of his pants, squeezing the life out of the gray fabric.

"I've lived out his dream, and he still isn't proud. He says I should be thankful that I have all this privilege and opportunity handed to me; he had to work up from the ground."

Zuko glared at Jet, and they both understood that it wasn't him that he was angry with him, and he was starting to understand why Ursa had been so insistent that Zuko has his a personal guard. Maybe outside threats weren't the only kind.

"Do you think that I'm grateful?"

Jet shrugged. "As much as you can be, without knowing the emptiness of not having anything." He answered, honestly.

Zuko waved him off with a disinterested noise.

"He's set me up with eight different dates, all with the daughters of businessmen I don't like."

"What about the daughters?" Jet knew he was treading on thin ice now. He had been working private security for five years for several different families, but he'd never cared about the feelings of the people he was protecting. He just wanted to keep them alive.

Zuko shrugged indifferently.

Jet had a suspicion about Zuko for a year now, but he hadn't been for sure until now.

"Zuko," he started. He never called Zuko by just his name, he always said 'mister' or his full name. This perked Zuko's interest

"Do you even like girls?"

The teenager froze for a minute, figuring out whether he could tell his guard or not. Slowly, he shook his head no.

Jet had been correct. He didn't know any guy that looked like  _ that _ and was straight.

"And your father doesn't approve?"

Zuko let out a cold, humorless laugh that sounded like he was in pain.

"My father thinks being gay is one of the worst things a person can be an illness. He once told me that he had a business partner before I was born, and when his partner told my father that he wasn't interested in a girl, my father  _ kicked him out of the company.  _ The man was supporting his parents and his sister's family, and my father fired him for being gay."

Zuko glared without hatred at Jet. "What do you think he'd do to his own son?"

Jet sighed. "What about your mom? What does she think?"

Zuko rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"She has no power over him. Never has."

Jet caught himself feeling horrible for the kid. He didn't want to, he didn't want to have an opinion or to care, but he did. He mulled over the words in his head for a few seconds before speaking his piece.

"My friend Haru from the service is gay. He never hid it from me; from the moment we stepped into boot camp, he told me he was gay, and I was never sure about how that made me feel. Of course, I had grown up Roman Catholic and was taught homosexuality was nothing to be proud of, but Haru was. He had a sweet boyfriend back home, and he loved him so much that all of we're jealous, even if he was a guy." Jet continued to talk, he didn't know if it was helping Zuko or not, but the teenager was silent, and he was no longer crying.

"He saved me, Haru. We were in some deep shit down in Afghanistan, and during the whole thing, even after being shot at and half our squadron down, Haru pulled me out of the firefight, and we made it."

Jet shook his head with a nostalgic smile and took a draw from the delicate teacup in his large hand, ignoring that it had grown cold.

"I even went to their wedding last summer," Jet offered. Zuko said nothing but didn't move from his curled position.

"Do you like guys, Mister Juarez?" He whispered. Jet froze.

"No," he said, but was surprised to hear that it sounded utterly disingenuous. 

Zuko heard it too but didn't push on it.

Jet no longer liked the conversation, but it seemed to be helping Zuko some, so he begrudgingly let it continue.

"But you for sure like girls,"

"Yeah, definitely." Jet replied, suddenly feeling the need to prove his masculinity

"Do you think I should like girls?"

Jet slowly let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. "No, I don't think you should. Especially if they don't make you happy."

"Maybe I just haven't found the right girl," Zuko said, but they both knew that wouldn't work.

Jet pushed his hand through his hair, already regretting the question he hadn't even asked.

"Have you ever dated a guy, or like..." he wiggled his fingers in the air, and got his desired effect Zuko cracked a smile, a broken, sad smile but one nonetheless.

"Slept with one?" He asked in his pure, innocent voice. Jet cringed.

"I guess that's what I was asking, yeah."

Zuko stretched out across the counter, his long legs crossed at the ankle, his head tipped back and leaning against a cupboard. His pale throat was exposed.

Jet suddenly felt anxious.

"No, I am still a virgin." He sighed as if the information wasn't intimate knowledge to share with your bodyguard.

Jet nodded uncomfortably and took a drag from his oolong tea, desperately wishing it was a shot of whiskey.

"Have you ever slept with a guy?" Zuko inquired, his brown eyes still trained on the very uncomfortable bodyguard.

"I thought we already went over this-" Jet started, but Zuko's smooth voice interrupted him.

"I asked you if you liked guys, not if you had ever had sex with one."

Jet shifted on the stool. He was suddenly hot and itchy.

"No,"

A Cheshire grin brought up the corners of Zuko's mouth.

"Yes, yes you have!" the teen said, he jumped off the counter in excitement. He straddled the stool on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, leaning in closer to Jet. He had never seen him this excited before.

Jet shook his head.

"No, I've only had sex with girls, I'm straight," he cried out, glancing around to find something that would prove that.

Zuko only stared at him, fiery old eyes leveling Jet.

Jet was a grown man. He was nearing twenty-six years old, he had fought in wars, he was working security for a multimillionaire, and he was suddenly spilling one his better-kept secrets to a seventeen-year-old honors student. He wondered when he started losing his mind, or if it was never really there to begin with.

"I was eighteen, it was summer break, I was leaving for basic training in the morning," he glanced up from his shame induced story, and saw that Zuko was grinning profusely. 

"If you breathe a word of this to anybody," Jet started, but Zuko waved his hand disinterestedly.

"Who am I going to tell?" the teenager asked incredulously. "Now finish your story,"

Jet grumbled but conceded. "I was at a bar with my buddies, trying out my fake ID for the first time, and in my defense, I thought she was a chick," recounting the story, he fell back to his Bronx accent.

Zuko laughed, already seeing where the story was going.

"So I talk to this girl, and we're really hitting it off, and I didn't see any red flags anywhere, neither did my buddies." Jet thought about for a second and started cursing.

"Wait a sec, those fuckers. They knew!" He slammed his hand on the marble counter. Their teacups rattled, but Zuko didn't seem to mind. He was enjoying the story too much.

"Never mind, I'll beat their asses later. So I'm dancing with her, she's dancing with me, I already asked her if she wanted to go home with me, and she said yes. So we get in a cab, and we're all over each other, and then," he paused for dramatic effect, and Zuko's right eye opened wider, his left hardly moved.

"Then I feel something pressing against my leg,"

Zuko started laughing, and Jet couldn't help but smile too.

"I was like,  _ 'what is that?' _ and she wouldn't answer me, she kept saying  _ 'don't worry about baby, it's fine _ ' and I was like  _ 'no, it's not alright, what is that? _ '"

Jet picked up his glass of oolong and took a drag from the cold, soggy cup.

"Turns out, she had a dick."

Another peal of laughter exploded from Zuko, who was clutching the side of the counter to keep from slumping to the floor.

"I jumped out that cab so fast, he didn't even have time to pull over. I walked home and brushed my teeth so hard and put so much mouthwash in my mouth; I couldn't taste anything for a week.

Slowly, the laughter died off, and Zuko could stand up without needing the counter for support.

Jet became disgruntled that he had had a bonding moment with his client, but it had made him laugh and momentarily forget about the problems of his life and focus on the mistakes in Jet's life.

It was all worth it for that laugh.

Zuko didn't thank Jet, and Jet didn't expect him to. Maybe protecting someone wasn't just from external threats like he had been taught because Jet knew just as well as Zuko, that sometimes, the most significant threats are your own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Ozai is still a dick.  
> Warning for a bit of transphobia, sorry I forgot to add a warning when I posted it. From now on I'll add more warnings.


	3. Fight me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

Northern Heights academy for the gifted was incredibly lucky that Jet wasn't the one who picked Zuko up from school that day. Zuko's other security guard, DeMarco, texted Jet.

** DeMarco: Kid Agni got in a fistfight today. **

** Jet: What? Is he alright? **

Jet was at the Mexican restaurant that his mom owned when he got the message. He dropped everything and rushed out the back door of the hot kitchen. The smell of peppers and hot grease followed him out.

** DeMarco: he's fine. Busted lip and bruised cheek. I don't think he has a broken nose. **

Jet was suddenly overwhelmingly thankful that none of the prep school kids knew how to fight like the kids he grew up with, if that had been the case, Jet would be on his way to the hospital. 

The Bronx was about a half-hour drive without traffic to the academy, but they were worlds apart.

** DeMarco: the kids requesting you. I told him it was your day off, but he insisted that I ask you. **

Jet hesitated. He got maybe one full day off of work every two or three weeks. He had a date that night with a hot girl from the cell phone store. He was supposed to help his Ma out with the cooking for another hour.

But he wanted to go.

Zuko asked for him.

_ Damn it all to hell.  _ He thought and ran back into the busy restaurant.

" _ Mama, _ " he called out.

His stout mother yelled back from the kitchen.

Their exchange was brief and spoken in such broken Spanish and English; it was hard for any listener to understand. The Juarez had their own dialect, and only the Juarez parents __ and their kids could speak it.

His mother was annoyed that he had to leave but understood. She made him take Zuko some of her 'get well soon' food, which was authentic Mexican tacos and a big hug. Jet rolled his eyes at the last part. No way in hell was that happening.

Jet couldn't legally explain what happened to Zuko; she didn't even know who her son worked for. She knew it was for a teenage boy, and she knew that his safety had sort of become somewhat personal to Jet.

Jet had accidentally let it slip that Zuko had gotten hurt, but he hadn't said his name, which almost also came out of his mouth.

Jet scolded himself as he rushed to his motorcycle, pushing the helmet onto his head. He had worked for the Agni family for over a year and hadn't slipped to anyone anything about them, and he almost compromised the safety of his client in a crowded restaurant. The only upside was that it was almost said to his mom, who wouldn't have given a flying rat's ass who it was.

Luck was on his side that evening as he sped through traffic that wasn't as bad as it could be.

It still took him close to an hour to get to the Agni's estate. He flashed his security clearance to the scanner at the front gate and slowly drove up the asphalt driveway. His motorcycle sounded uncomfortably loud in the stale New York air.

Jet parked the bike in the garage and quickly walked into the house.

The sitting room was empty, everything was empty, and Jet was starting to be concerned when he checked the last place, the study, and found them. DeMarco was next to the door, reading a book that Jet wasn't even sure DeMarco could understand. He started when he saw Jet, half jumping out of the overstuffed chair until he realized that it wasn't a threat.

Jet slowly walked into the room and leaned against the door jamb. His eyes immediately flew to Zuko, who was sitting in another overstuffed chair against the opposite wall, his left leg tucked up under his chin, his one good eyes scanning the words on his advanced statistics math textbook.

Jet whistled under his breath. The kid's bottom lip was a little swollen, a crack in the side. Across his right cheek and starting up into his eye socket, was an already purple bruise. His right eye was swollen shut. Jet wondered how well he could see since his other eye was almost equally slitted from the burn.

Zuko glanced up, and his remaining, non-bruised cheek, reddened with embarrassment. He was suddenly seeming to regret asking for Jet to come. He glanced over the bodyguard, reminding Jet that he was still wearing his civilian clothes. No time for a suit tonight.

Zuko turned back to the book, but pulled his other leg up and squeezed it to his body

Jet turned and left the room, making quick work of the servant's hallways and into the kitchen that no Agni ever cooked in. He found a never used before dishcloth and a cup. He pressed the cup under the refrigerator and prayed that it was functioning. Ice poured from the spigot and into the cup, and it was the only noise in the entire expansive mansion.

He hurriedly dumped the ice into the cloth and was already walking back to the study as he wrapped it up.

He didn't care if he made the teenager embarrassed or ashamed; he pressed the ice compress into Zuko's hand and tapped the side of his head.

Zuko begrudging, set in on his cheek with a wince.

Jet glanced back at DeMarco, who had resumed reading  _ Othello. _

_ " _ Hey, DeMarco, I think I've got it from here." He said, and the younger guard's head popped up from the book and nodded. He left the study, pulling the door shut behind him.

Jet didn't need to ask questions, and he knew it was just a matter of time before Zuko spilled it all. He just found a good book from several different cases lining the walls and settled into a rocking chair. He had barely finished the first chapter of  _ The Great Gatsby  _ before Zuko started talking.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here on your day off," he whispered.

Jet shrugged.

"I was bored, anyway."

Zuko nodded and scribbled down more notes in his notebook that was almost if not thicker than the textbook itself.

"What were you doing?" Zuko asked. He was stalling. Jet played along.

"I was helping my mother with her restaurant, Italian Mexican fusion."

Zuko opened his mouth to respond, but Jet cut him off.

"Zuko, what happened?" he thought he would have more patience that afternoon, but it didn't turn out that way. 

The teenager paused. It was apparent he didn't want to talk about it.

"I..." even though the teen hadn't made eye contact with the bodyguard, he still cast his eyes away in shame.

"I flirted... with the... wrong guy," he muttered.

Jet didn't smile or poke fun. He didn't want it to, but his heart went out to the kid. He knew that this was somehow his fault.

"So, he hit you?"

Zuko nodded, his usually perfectly coiffed trendy hair had lost its gel and now flopped in his eyes, giving him a puppy look.

"What did you tell the teachers?"

Zuko pulled the ice away from his face. The swelling had gone down, but there was nothing to be done about the color.

"That we took the topic of the debate for debate club too far,"

Jet rolled his eyes.

He had spent long enough time with the nerds at Zuko's school to know that something like that was entirely possible.

"Please tell me you didn't do that while following my advice," Jet winced, and Zuko shrugged apologetically.

"Sort of, yeah."

Jet hissed out a breath. He didn't want to be right.

"Damn it; this is what I get for being nice and trying to help the kid out!" He growled at the ceiling, his fingers closed around the crucifix on his chest. "I'm sorry, kid. I thought maybe I'd share some of my old person wisdom with you, and it'd help, but," he gestured to the bruised face in front of him. "I guess I should just keep my damn mouth shut,"

For the first time in a week, a genuine ghost of a smile blessed Zuko's face. Jet was pleasantly surprised to find that he liked it when the kid smiled.

And also a bit horrified at the same time.

"It said in your file that you have military training," Zuko started suddenly, jumping up from the overstuffed chair and pulled up a manila folder from seemingly nowhere. Jet wasn't shocked that the kid had access to his files. Zuko was twice as rich and three times as smart as Jet. He could have the entire mission's transcripts of his whole unit if he wanted to find them.

"And though I am foreign, I think I have at least a basic understanding of the rigorous and effective training you have to go through in the United States in order to achieve the level of accomplishments as you have." He had excitedly opened the folder, and several pages fell on the desk. Jet glanced at them and saw it was practically his whole life scattered on a desk. He tried not to let it get to him. Zuko wouldn't understand it, even though he was a good kid. Some things cannot be taught, and there were some things that Zuko missed entirely living the way he did.

"What are you getting at, Kid?" Jet had unknowingly taken up a defensive pose. His arms were crossed, and his stance was wide.

"Well, I was wondering if you'd be willing to teach me how to fight."

~0~

Jet didn't know why he agreed. He should have said no, he should have told the kid that fighting wasn't the answer.

But since he was now a complete idiot, he had told the kid that he would help.

God help him.

The work out room in the Agni's house was a far cry from a gym, but Jet would have to tell Zuko's father that they were leaving the property in order to get to a real gym, and then he'd have to explain why they were going. So he opted to venture into the spacious room that was free of dust, but stale with disuse. The entire room held brand new workout equipment and a large rack of weights, but nothing had been touched.

Jet was happy to find the one tool he knew the best. The punching bag. It was new and red and shiny, a far cry from the decrepit old thing that he had learned proper punches on. Then again, growing up on the streets had been a sufficient teacher too.

Jet took a seat on the bench press.

"Hit the bag," he instructed. Zuko had changed out of his school uniform and into a semblance of work out clothes. Baggy basketball shorts and a t-shirt with slits down the sides.

"What do you mean-" he tried, but Jet barked out the order again.

"Hit the damn bag!"

Zuko glanced at him nervously before tentatively striking the red bag. It didn't even sway.

Jet repressed a snort.

"Again," he called out, standing up from the bench and walking around the bag. Zuko hit it again, harder.

"Thumbs on the outside of your fist," Jet showed him before punching the bag twice in rapid succession.

"Keep them on the inside, and you'll snap them in half."

The teenager took his advice and hit the bag again; each punch was growing his confidence.

"Square shoulders, fists level with your chin," Jet instructed, nudging up the teenager's elbow so he'd hit better. Zuko nodded, his hair fell in his eyes, but it didn't stop him from swiftly punching the bag, one-two, one-two.

Jet watched the rage slowly filter out of him. his fists were a blurred frenzy, then he started intermediately kicking the bag or kneeing it. He went on longer than Jet thought he would have, long enough to be panting and sweating before his half-hearted jabs made his arms quiver.

Jet watched with his arms crossed with his chin raised, Zuko was panting and near tears, as he hunched over his knees.

"Better?" He questioned, knowing all too well the feeling of not being able to do anything and hating it. If he could help the kid get a shred of confidence and self-safety, he'd be satisfied.

Zuko glanced up at him through his damp hair that flopped unconfined across his forehead and nodded, wiping his wrist across his face.

"Oh," Jet heard as soon as he turned away to test the bench bar, and it pulled his attention back to the teen.

Zuko gaped at his knuckles, and so did Jet. The punches must have been more potent than Jet expected, the skin on his knuckles were cracked and split, bleeding freely down his hand.

"Well, that's not good," the young man said, disinterested. Jet let out an agreeing noise and went to grab the first aid kit from the kitchen. When he reentered the room, Zuko was sitting politely on the bench press seat, bloodied fists being analyzed.

"I've never bled because of physical activity," he confessed. Jet raised a brow. They had led very different lives.

Jet wipes away the blood with a washcloth, Zuko gasping at the sudden pain. "Ouch!" He whispered, shocked at the pain.

Jet ignored him and wrapped up his hand. The kid looked awful. His busted up face and now his hands too. Jet sighed and rubbed his forehead.

He was still kneeling in front of the teenager, a fact that he hadn't noticed until he caught Zuko from the corner of his eye.

It was a strange look, appraising and curious and a bit shy.

"Stop getting hurt," Jet grunted. 

For some godless reason, the attention he was getting wasn't scaring him. And that itself, was scaring him.

Zuko blushed and nodded.

"Ok."

"How do I explain this to your dad?"

Zuko shrugged. "I don't know. If the school hadn't called, he never would have seen."

The words should have had Jet rolling his eyes or internally sighing, but this wasn't an invitation to a pity party. It was a simple fact, simply said.

Zuko was good at pure emotions, and Jet missed when he had them too. Now they were all getting crossed over and jumbled.

Inconvenient at best, dangerous at worst.

Jet rose from his crouch, pretending that there wasn't a reaction in his stomach as Zuko watched him stand.

It has been said before that Jet doesn't have good impulse control. That's why he joined the marines, that's why he has a motorcycle, and that's why he had three truly hideous tattoos.

So it should be no shock that he reached out and touched Zuko.

This was the first contact he had made besides strictly professional; he wasn't holding out a hand to stop him from walking or yanking him out of the way of a pillar when he wasn't paying attention or giving in whenever the weirdo wanted a fist bump.

Instead of doing something normal, he reached out and grabbed his chin. He tilted his head side to side, letting the light shine on the bruise and split lip.

His skin was smooth.

"I've had enough black eyes," he said, excusing himself to touch him longer. "I think you'll be fine. Good thing that asshole didn't know how to throw a punch. You'd have a broken nose too."

Zuko looked up at him through a wide fan of ink-black lashes on the right side. The skin on the left side of his face was tight and shiny, still angrily red from the accident. It was so deeply entwined with who Zuko was in Jet's mind, that it hardly looked out of place. It was just Zuko.

"He didn't have you as a trainer," he said. Jet watched the way his lips moved.

Abruptly, he dropped his chin and frowned.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

_ Oh fuck.  _ He thought to himself.

Oh fuck indeed.

His job just got a whole lot more complicated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am 100% copying this off an original piece that I had written earlier, but now I'm tailoring it to fit a Jet and Zuko story.   
> I am plagiarizing myself. Oof.


	4. Rocket

"I hope you understand how ridiculous this is, right?" Jet asked as he watched Zuko set up the rocket. It was disgustingly cold out, patches of dirty white snow clung to the ground, not making the Christmas lights that were professionally put on the house look enticing. Everything looked fake and fluorescent, everything but Zuko.  
In a moment of weakness, Jet bought a Christmas present for the teenager. He was in the kid store at the mall buying a cartload of Christmas presents for his dozens of nieces and nephews, when he spotted it. It was a simple backyard rocket that you put together, then light with a cigarette lighter and watch it blast off into the sky. It was ten dollars, and Jet couldn't look away from it. There wasn't a strict rule against buying presents for your clients, but it was a moral dilemma for Jet. He was on the losing side of not wanting to like Zuko, and he wasn't sure if he minded losing that fight anymore.  
"You're the one who bought it, so you don't get to lecture me on how ridiculous it is," Zuko bit back as he slid the rocket down into its cheap wire stand. The missile was white and red and so cheaply made, Jet worried that it might not actually fire off, but he didn't dare voice his concerns to Zuko, because the kid was having the time of his life.  
"Lighter," he called out, extended hand waving excitedly. Jet rolled his eyes but walked across the frozen yard and handed him the lighter.  
"Don't singe off your eyebrows," he warned, watching him flick the lighter at least ten times before it caught the wick.  
"Move, move, move," Zuko chanted as he barreled past Jet and away from the rocket, yanking him with him by his jacket sleeve.  
The tiny wick fizzed and sparked spectacularly, but just as it seemed as though it would blast off, it stopped, a thin trail of smoke curling up into the dreary sky.  
Jet watched it with his arms crossed, Zuko craning his neck to see better. It was too cold for this game.  
"It's a dud, sorry, kid."  
"Maybe I just need to go relight it," Zuko pondered, his freezing fingers reaching out expectantly for the lighter back.  
"And blast your face off? I don't think so."  
Zuko's bottom lip puckered out in a small pout that he wasn't even aware of. Jet growled at himself and rolled his eyes.  
"I'll do it, god help me," But before he could take another step closer to the cheap plastic rocket, it shot off the end of the guide with a crack fit for thunder. It chucked itself into the heavens, spinning and whirring, the bright orange flare at the end of it lighting up the gray sky.  
"WHOA," Zuko cheered, bouncing up and down as it spun out of control and raced back towards the yard and landed in a pathetic, shattered heap by the lilac bushes.  
"That was amazing," he called out as he sprinted to the broken plastic. He held the dirtied white tube over his head in pride, and Jet couldn't help but smile back at the teenager who was grinning like an idiot.  
"That was the best Christmas present I've ever gotten," He held the rocket triumphantly, and Jet didn't doubt that he would somehow rationalize keeping the rocket under the guise of something other than a memento. For the past eighteen years, he had been receiving expensive watches and clothes, the latest iPad, the newest bike, all of it shiny and chrome. He most likely hadn't gotten a toy in years. He probably hadn't been allowed to be a kid for that long too.  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
*This is just a small little domestic bit until I finish the rest of the chapter, enjoy* Time jump from about May to December, be prepared for more time jumps*


	5. Before

The two of them sat in Agni house like they did most nights that weren't filled with club meetings or study sessions.

Jet sat on the modern white sofa, surveillance feed playing on the computer on his lap. Zuko was sprawled out on the coffee table like a cat with no sense of boundaries. It was sort of cute, but because it was cute, it suddenly became something that Jet didn't like very much.

He was clacking away at his computer a million miles a second, and Jet wished he didn't care about the teenager enough to have to tell him this personally.

"I've been called back to active duty," Jet hadn't meant to blurt it out, he had fully intended on telling Zuko slowly and nicely, there was no need for there to be more confusion than there already was.

The gentle, placid look that he had had on his face melted away along with all the blood.

"What?"

"My captain called me this morning. He said that I am being called back to Iraq next week and that I needed to tie up all my loose ends before I go because I'll be there for a while."

Zuko reeled as he tried to find the parts of him that were calm and composed in these situations. But Jet could see through the cracks, all the parts that hadn't been covered up yet, the bare and the empty. They were panicking, pale white with fear, just like the rest of him.

"Do you know when you're coming back?"

"No, I don't. He said maybe in April or maybe next year. It all depends on what we do. I was really good at what I did, and they want me to do it again."

It was an unspoken rule that Zuko didn't ask  _ what  _ Jet did. 

"Do you want to go?"

"I have to go back, it's my duty, I signed up for this a long time ago,"

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you want to go."

"No. I don't want to go back. "

"Can't you say no? Can't you stay?"

"I can, yes."

Zuko looked at him steadily in the eyes for the first time in the whole discussion. He wasn't crying, his eyes as dry as his voice, his left eye squinted shrewdly at Jet. His long piano fingers didn't tremble as he crossed his arms over his chest; he was stable and level as always. Jet sort of wished he was showing more emotion than this, but he knew better than to expect that.

"But you won't say no, will you." It wasn't a question, because he already knew the answer.

"No, I won't."

"Okay." He licked his lips "When are you leaving?"

"I'm flying out Friday night, so two days."

"Okay."

"DeMarco is going to fill in for me while I'm gone."

"DeMarco is an idiot."

"Yes, he is."

"You're going to leave me with an idiot for an indefinite amount of time?" Zuko's crossed arms started to look less defensive and more like he was hugging himself.

"You're smart enough to make up for it, you'll be fine," He didn't know who he was reassuring at this point, himself or the kid.

"Is this because of the other day when we argued, and I told you to leave and not come back?" He whispered, eyes unfocused on the New York Skyline from the window. During the day, it was significantly less impressive.

"Absolutely not. I'm leaving because I made a commitment when I was eighteen, and I need to keep going with it. I need to do this because this is the only way I get to make a difference."

His odd habit of curling up like a cat in strange places was no exception at this moment because Zuko pulled his knees up under his chin as gracefully as one human could manage and leveled Jet's gaze with his own. He was only eighteen, but he seemed so much older than that as the lamplight made him a pastel being with sharp edges.

"War is stupid,"

"I agree fully."

"American government is the creation of long-dead imbeciles who should have just stuck with drinking tea and beating their slaves," Zuko baited, a poised eyebrow ready for the fight.

"I drink tea,"

"I know. I make you tea all the time."

"Right,"

"Who's going to make you tea when you're up to your neck in sand?" His bad cheek was resting on his knees now, and the guilt ricocheting in Jet's chest could have swallowed him whole.

"I don't know, Zuko."

"Who's going to fix your phone when it breaks?"

"I'll ship it back to you."

"Who's going to make fun of pedestrians with me when we drive through the city?"

"DeMarco will,"

At the thought of sharing one of their dumb routines that had wedged its way into a part of their dynamic with another person curled a sneer into Zuko's lip.

"Who's going to hold me down when I have nightmares?" There was a thin edge of fear in his hushed whisper, just a sliver of feral terror that Jet felt slide through his spine too. Calling them nightmares was a gross understatement. They were night terrors at the very least, leaving the teenager to scream himself into a frenzy, so scared that he thrashed and clawed at anything that touched him. Jet had the nail marks to prove it.

DeMarco's name perched on the edge of his tongue, but he almost bit it off. He didn't want Demarco in Zuko's room while he was sleeping, he didn't want a scared Zuko to grab onto Demarco's arms when he was terrified out of his mind and confused, he didn't want Zuko to turn to anybody else for protection. It was a selfish and rather awful thought, but he couldn't make himself believe the opposite.

A sigh left Jet in one long stream, and he dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know, kid. I don't know."

"I hate this," he whispered into his knees, curled so tightly in on himself that he looked no bigger than a ten-year-old. For the first time since he got the call, a sliver of regret got into his iron will power. It was small, but it was present. It had bypassed the walls that even the tears of his own mother couldn't get by. But Maria had dozens of grandchildren and a restaurant to keep her busy, she would make it without him.

Zuko didn't have such a support system. He didn't have a doting mother and a father to laugh with. He didn't have a house full of siblings to chase away the demons for him. Hell, he didn't even have a dog to warm his bed.

_ This is a bad idea, _ he thought to himself as a thought formed haphazardly in his mind.  _ What's the worst thing they could do, fire me _ ? His brain argued back, and he swore under his breath.

"Do you want to go somewhere with me, like right now?"

Zuko's long lashes peeked up from over the top of his knees, a curious arch to his messy brows.

"Where?"

"It's a surprise."

"Are you kidnapping me, Mr. Juarez?"

Jet snorted as he stood up from the couch. "We both know I don't have the patience to pull off a kidnapping."

He unfolded his long limbs like dance, scoffing at the notion. "Are you saying that I'm not worth kidnapping?"

Jet tossed him his jacket from the rack by his door. "What I'm saying is, if I'm going to kidnap someone, it's gotta be someone with a lower IQ than me. I can't have them outsmartin' me at every corner."

It was still achingly cold out, but the banter was freeing in some twisted way, so the air didn't bite as hard.

"Have you plotted my kidnapping before?"

"Should I have?"

"Well, what if I get kidnapped in the future, but you wouldn't know how to find me because you never planned out how to do it? You wouldn't know what path my abductors took,"

"Get in the damn car," Jet sighed, unlocking the suburban.

"Oh, are you planning it now? That is exactly something a bandit would say," Methodically, Zuko buckled his seatbelt and flipped down the sun visor. There was no sun to hurt his eyes, but he slipped on his overly large sunglasses all the same.

"A bandit?" Jet squinted at him a little distracted by the sharpness of his cheekbones. The suburban started significantly less violently than his motorcycle. He would have offered to take the kid for a ride, but he wasn't sure that Zuko would have gotten on.

"What? Kidnappers are considered bandits,"

"Yeah, but no one says 'bandits' when they're talkin' bout getting kidnapped, this isn't the wild west,"

"What word would you prefer I use?" he queried innocently. Though his knees were no longer pulled protectively to his chest like how they often were when they rode in the car (no matter how much Jet yelled at him to put his damn legs down), he was tapping his fingers incessantly against his thighs, the beat too erratic for Jet to recognize.

"In all honesty, Zuko," he lost the battle in holding back a smile "I would prefer that we not talk about your kidnapping in general,"

"My father is a rich man with many enemies; it could very well happen."

"I understand that," He craned his neck to check the road before pulling out of the estate's driveway. "But, please?"

"Fine," he relented, grunting indignantly at the bodyguard. "But you'll be the one apologizing to me when I inevitably get abducted and held for ransom,"

Jet glanced at him, a wolfish smile stretched over his teeth, noticing how red the teenager's cheeks got from being under one of the earth-tilting Juarez smiles.

"That is, of course, assumin' that they don't give you back immediately because you talked their ear off about the periodic table, and how Mozart wasn't really that good of a composer  _ 'if you just think about it,' _ "

Zuko turned to him; mouth popped open in surprise at his bodyguard's candidness. He never spoke this openly, but in all fairness, this wasn't a typical day.

"You are an awful bodyguard, I thought you would be concerned about this subject, but I guess not,"

Jet laughed for the first time in a week. He wasn't expecting it, and neither was Zuko, but it boomed out of his chest all the same, filling the shiny black cab of the suburban with the sound. Zuko watched the whole time, unabashedly. The tips of his ears were pink while he mumbled out a response.

"I didn't really think it was that funny,"

"It wasn't, it just caught me off guard."

"Nothing is supposed to catch you off guard," Zuko commented, taking little interest in their surroundings, opting to pick at a hangnail instead. Jet wondered what it was like to not bother with your location and everyone around you all the time.

"Nothing  _ used  _ to catch me off guard, Zuko. Then I met you, and I can't tell if it got better or worse from there."

It wasn't an insult, and it wasn't a compliment, but the teenager grinned contentedly all the same, careful not to let his joy be too loud, but Jet saw it anyway.

"My mom is really going to like you," he was pulling the suburban up close the curb to a dingey, hole in the wall sort of restaurant, causing the teenager to blanch.

"What is this place? Are you going to murder me here?" His accusations were wild, but he stepped out of the car as he said it.

"Yes, beef prices are goin' through the roof right now, so we're going to use you in the  _ carne asada _ ." Jet rolled his eyes.

Zuko's eyes got enormous, stopping their progression on the sidewalk. "You're what?"

"Oh my god, I'm not going to kill you, or kidnap you, or" Zuko opened his mouth to add on, but Jet beat him to the punch, "sell you on the black market. I don't even know how to get on the black market, let alone sell a grouchy teenager on it,"

"I can show you how," Zuko commented with mild disinterest like he had offered to show him how to copy a file and not how to sell a human on the internet.

"Please don't, I really don't want to go to prison,"

"Again,"

"I thought we agreed to never talk about that, ever."

"No, you agreed, and I just sat there."

"Do you even want to come in here?" Jet pointed to the door that said welcome in three different languages. He was too familiar with it to see the blemishes, but standing next to Zuko while he pointed at the dented metal, he could understand if he wanted to turn around and go home. The back door definitely looked like it led to a crack den. "Because it's startin' to sound like you don't want to be here,"

"I want to go in," Zuko squawked, rushing to the door and trying to pull it open. He pulled again, but it just creaked at him.

"Jiggle the handle,"

"I am jiggling, it's locked," He was so clean compared to the stained backdrop of the scuffed metal door, it was nearly comical, but Jet didn't feel like laughing.

"It's not locked, you have to jiggle it," Jet side stepped Zuko and swatted his hand away from the tarnished metal knob. "Jiggle," he narrated as he violently shook the whole door frame, launching his shoulder into it. It shot open so hard that Jet almost fell into the hallway that branched away from it. The smell of spicy meat filled the alley.

"No wonder you don't lock it," Zuko watched in wonder as Jet was showered in paint dust and leaf litter. "You have to knock the door down to get in,"

"It's the best way to deter the bandits, you know," he joked as he brushed off the paint, eyeing Zuko mischievously.

He promptly flipped him off, and shouldered passed him into the warm restaurant.

~0~

Mamá Maria could always be described as an ideal human to rear a creature as despicable as a child. Short, stout, and quick with her words, she was a saint in her community and a goddess in the kitchen. Since Jet's father, Hugo, had died during Jet's first deployment, it had been up to Maria to carry on the family restaurant and help raise her twelve grandchildren. By the grace of God, she managed with finesse.

Shouts of welcome hummed through the small, warm space, causing Zuko to shrink in on himself and slow down.

"¡Hijo!" Maria called out from the kitchen as Jet stepped up behind him. "I thought you had to work tonight," she commented as she peppered his face in kisses, ignoring the terrified child next to him.

"I am, mamá," he grinned, relishing her pillowed hug.

"Oh?"

"This is Zuko..." There was more he could say. He could have introduced him a dozen different ways under a hundred different aliases, but this was not a night for following rules.

"It's good to finally meet you," Maria appraised him with her eyes, but she hadn't stopped smiling yet. Her eyes didn't linger on the burn scar that had gobbled up his eye, but she didn't avoid it either. 'I'd say I've heard a lot about you, but never once have I heard a peep about you, other than that one time you got in a fistfight at school," She was a whirlwind of activity, bustling back into the kitchen while she was still talking. She hadn't noticed Zuko cringe.

"Oh god, you told her about that?"

"Not intentionally, I just told her that I needed to leave because you got in a fight. She put the rest of it together herself, she's a smart woman,"

"Come, come, sit down, eat. Whatever you want, I'll make it," She called from the kitchen. There were three other patrons in the restaurant, customers so regular that they called out best wishes for Jet when he went overseas.

"Doesn't it make you uncomfortable, everyone knowing your business?" Zuko hissed, eyeing the old people in the corner suspiciously. Jet couldn't help but smile.

"They are sweet old people who will do nothing but pray for me, and I need all the help I can get."

Zuko grumbled about organized religion as he nibbled on his corn chips. He didn't want to admit that he enjoyed the restaurant, but he loved it. The walls were orange, and everything was alive with color but not enough to dislike them. The kitchen was close enough that they could hear Maria singing her Spanish music from the small table they sat at. Everything was worn but clean, little mariachi figurines danced on shelves, and a radio hummed sweet Italian love songs in the corner. It was cozy, and Zuko didn't use that term lightly.

"Your sisters are coming in a bit," Maria said as she put their massive steaming plates in front of them. Jet knocked his feet into Zuko's, and they both thanked her.

Jet looked up from his mouthful of meat." And the whole flock of monsters?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Maria scolded him, much to Zuko's delight. "And yes, all your nieces and nephews are coming with,"

Jet glanced across the table to Zuko and grinned at him with all the mischief he could manage. "You get to meet the whole family tonight, kid."

"Should I be scared?" He mused aloud as Maria danced around the room, humming sweetly while refilling coffee cups.

"Oh, absolutely terrified. I'm going to warn you; you are getting hugged at least twenty different times tonight."

Zuko fought the grin but ultimately lost. He had not received a hug in a long time, and though they would come from loud women who smelled like rosewater and peppers and a herd of sticky-handed children, he figured it could be a lot worse.

~0~

The restaurant closes at nine-thirty at night, but the room was still alive. Zuko had a hard time comprehending the number of people that could be in just one family. From what he understood, Jet had three sisters. All of them gorgeous and smart as they come. Each of them had a husband and four children.

That made, in total, twenty people in the family, not counting Jet's father that had passed away a decade ago. A picture of him hung on the wall by the kitchen. He looked like an older, kinder version of Jet with a mustache and crinkled eyes. Zuko glanced at Jet from across the room. He was currently braiding one of his niece's hair, a deep frown marring his face as he concentrated, a hairband held between his teeth. If he wasn't so stressed all the time, Zuko deducted, and if he smiled more, he could achieve the same laugh lines that his father had.

His enormous family knew better than to question Zuko or his pronounced scar, so they just happily looped him in on the conversation, a trick that the child prodigy didn't understand. He wasn't the best at social cues, and it showed, but he was good at reading people objectively. But for the life of him, he didn't understand why they were so nice to him. He tried figuring out as the gaggle of wild children messily ate their dinners and played loud games around the tables. He stewed with it while the brothers in law argued over soccer scores and their wives laughed loudly in their own conversations.

The kids filed upstairs to their grandmother's apartment, and the ones young enough to need constant supervision curled in whatever lap would harbor them. Zuko was currently holding onto a small girl no more than a year old, who was sound asleep on his shoulder. He was terrified to move.

Now that the children were gone or asleep and all that was left was empty beer bottles and solemn-faced adults, Zuko finally understood that it was a going-away party for Jet.

"I'm leaving on Friday morning." He said, hand rhythmically patting the butt of a six-week-old baby.

"What time?" a sister, Lucia, asked. She had Jet's mouth, and it mirrored the thin line that his lips were set in.

"I can't tell you,"

"Has Captain Rogers told you when you're coming home?" Maria asked. She was a tough woman, a fact that Zuko didn't have to dig for, but the glossiness of her eyes told them all that she was losing it piece by piece.

"Not yet."

The mother hen nodded and busied herself by shredding a napkin. An awful feeling of profound sadness washed over the room, snaking up legs and settling over hearts.

"Are you ready?" one of the husbands, Jemal, asked. Zuko was holding one of his daughters, one of the only children that were easy to connect with her parents because her curly hair was nearing an afro, just like her father's.

"I'm packed. I've talked with my landlord, and he'll lease out the apartment until I come home."

That's not what he was asking for, but Jet didn't want to talk about that.

"I'm keeping my motorcycle at your house still, right, Jemal?" He nodded soberly.

"For however long you need to keep it there, man, it's fine by us," and his wife, Itzair, agreed. All of their confusing names bounced around Zuko's head in a jumble, all the syllables and consonants fought with the vowels, and if he were asked what his name was, he wouldn't be able to answer straight away.

The tiny child stirred in his arms, shifting her small body around until she wiggled closer up to his neck and sighed in content. It was apparent that Zuko had never held a baby before, but the one-year-old didn't care; she leeched off his body heat all the same.

Jet watched from across the room, and he smiled. It wasn't the sort of smile that was shared with other people, and Zuko wished he hadn't seen it. It was achingly hollow, not quite a grimace and not a snarl, an echo of happiness.

Zuko looked away.

"What are you going to do, now that he's leaving?" a husband to one of the beautiful sisters jokes, nudging Zuko's arm with his elbow.

"I-" playful quips danced around his mouth, the answer was there, but it wasn't in words. How could he tell them that this wasn't like losing a limb, but like losing the roof off of your house? You don't notice it because it's there every single day, protecting you and keeping everything safe and warm. But when something happens and how your roof is going away and you don't know when it's coming back because it has other people that it needs to protect now, how could he put that into words? The fear? The confusion? The anger? How could he say that he was pissed off because everyone was saying that his roof was brave, as if it could be anything else? As if every piece of it wasn't inherently good? How dare people say things about him like they didn't know him, like those old people earlier in the restaurant,  _ 'you're doing a good thing for your country _ '. People were expecting Zuko's roof to cover the whole country under his canopy, and  _ none  _ of them even knew how he liked to take his tea. Or that he liked football more than soccer even though it drove his brothers-in-laws insane, or how he hated the smell of the river next to the academy, or that he had a massive soft spot for broken boys. It was easy to like broken people because they're a lot like broken mirrors; every shattered reflection looks a bit like yourself.

Jet's sisters seemed to understand his sudden loss for words, and they nodded at him in agreement.

~0~

The air was significantly colder when they left the restaurant than when they went in. The sun had set and the night was everywhere, it darkened the shadows and magnified every car passing by, every step on the frozen sidewalk was like falling bricks.

The suburban was just as cold. They sat shivering with the heat on full blast, steadily thawing their fingers and cheeks.

"You'll never get this cold in Iraq," Zuko commented as he cranked the heated seats as high as they could go.

Jet snorted. "You can escape the cold, but you can't escape the sand there. It gets everywhere, in your hair, your socks, your mouth. I'd take the cold any day."

_ So stay _ , coiled around Zuko's throat, it was just two syllables, but they were big ones. But he couldn't say it, not to him and not right now. It wouldn't be fair.

He didn't have to say it for Jet to think it, though.

"I like your family. It's big and loud."

A proud grin stretched overtop his perfect white teeth as he buckled up.

"They're pretty great, aren't they?"

It had been phrased as a question, but Zuko didn't bother responding. Jet knew his family was great; it was written in his smile and every ounce of his confidence.

"If we had grown up together, do you think we would have been friends?"

Chewing on his lip in a way that was incredibly distracting to Zuko, Jet pondered his question. He wasn't one for much pondering, he found that he usually wasn't very good at it, and people a lot smarter than him could get to whatever he was questioning significantly faster than him. But this, this he could think about, in this safe little hypothetical world where there was no wrong answer.

"I think so. I don't think my friends would have liked you all that much, but I would have."

"Why would you have liked me?" he was fishing, and they both knew it. But the drive back was long, and nothing could hurt them because this was not a night for real things. It was for hushed conversations and vague hypotheticals.

"Because you're smart, and despite everything, you're a good kid."

"Despite everything?" it wasn't accusatory, but curious.

"Do you want a real answer or something that can pass as true?"

"Real answer. Always the real answer."

Drumming his fingers on the wheel, he glanced at the teenager next to him. He was disheveled from the restaurant, the hair that he always took such pride in was mussed from eight different pairs of children's hands passing through it at intermittent times during the night.

"Because you've been handed everything in your entire life and you've never had to worry about things that everyone else does because it's been taken care of for you. Somethin' really awful happened to you even though I don't know why, you could be filled up with a whole lot of hate, yet you're not. All of that combined is a recipe for a horrible person. You could be off snorting cocaine off a hooker's ass in Malibu right now and never have another worry run through your mind, but you're not."

Zuko's eyebrow raised at the example, but Jet pushed through.

"You're here, studying to be a-" he faltered. They have had multiple heart to heart conversations in the past six months, but they didn't talk about superficial things like college majors or favorite colors.

"Business and marketing," Zuko mused, humored deeply by this entire exchange.

"Yeah, that. You're sweet and quiet, and you feel guilty about your actions, and you know right from wrong. So yeah, despite everything, you're a good kid."

"That was painful to listen to," Zuko sighed out through pursed lips. Jet barked out a laugh and fought the urge to punch him in the arm. "It was like a gorilla trying to work through his feelings with only flashcards that say 'happy' or 'sad'"

"Hey, at least I have emotions," Jet bit back, a smile still curled on his lips.

"Low blow, ape-man," Zuko clapped his hand to his chest in mock pain.

Eight overhead street lights passed before Jet opened his mouth again.

"Promise me you'll do that while I'm gone,"

"What?"

"Laugh."

"Okay," he whispered in a small voice.

"And Zuko, you have to eat. I know that was never my job and probably none of my business, but you have to eat. DeMarco isn't going to force-feed you ramen when you forget to eat for the ninth night in a row."

That had been a night for sure. There had been a two week period where Zuko didn't eat. He hadn't been hungry, and he had a microbiology essay that was due the following week that was more important. That was the first time he and Jet had ever truly fought. Zuko had screamed at him to mind his own god damn business, and Jet said that it was his job to keep him alive. It had been a horrible fight, now that he was looking back on it. He had said some truly awful things, but the bodyguard didn't sway or get angry, he just pinned him against the counter and shoved noodles in his mouth.

"Okay,"

"And you have to sleep. No more than three late nights a week, no running yourself to the bone and passing out for weekend because you're hardly a human anymore. You have to sleep, or I will-" he was going to say he was going to come back and tie him up until he fell asleep, but he knew that would somehow give him an incentive to get Jet to come back to the states.

"Just sleep, okay?"

"Yeah."

"And go outside, buy another cheap little rocket and try not to set yourself on fire, alright?"

"You sound like my mom, telling me to do all this stuff," He attempted to joke, but they both knew that his mom never talked to him about these sorts of things. She never made sure he was eating or sleeping or getting enough sunshine.

"I think I'm okay with telling you what to do. You're a smart kid, and you can take care of yourself, but now you just gotta prove it."

Zuko had perfected the art of crying silently, but so had Jet. So he could see the tremble in his hand and the quick glint of an escaped tear before it was impatiently flicked away.

"You'll uh, you'll come back to work here when you're done, right?"

"Yeah, I'm coming back,"

"Okay, good. DeMarco is an idiot, and you can't leave me with him for too long,"

Jet smiled, but it wasn't the happy kind.

~0~

The garage was heated, and so was the car, but Zuko was chilled to the bone, his hands quivering. They just sat in the car for a long time.

He received more hugs today than he had in an entire year, but it was still a sensory shock when Jet hugged him.

He would never have to explain this to his father because though the garage had cameras just like the rest of the house, the windows were tinted on the SUV, and Jet was the one that scanned the feed anyway.

Zuko wasn't the best at asking for affection because he just sat there for a few seconds, awkwardly glancing at Jet until the bodyguard rolled his eyes and grabbed him.

He smelled like the good kind of old spice and roasted peppers and baby lotion from holding all his nieces and nephews, and he was solid like a bodyguard should be. It was challenging to hug someone over a center console digging into your hips, but Zuko didn't mind because strong arms and a leather jacket were crushing him.

"You be good, alright?" Jet said gruffly against his neck.

Zuko wanted to make a joke about how Jet should behave himself too, but he couldn't form the words, so he nodded instead, burying himself deeper into the warm hold.

They pulled apart after an amount of time that neither of them had counted, but neither migrated to their respective sides of the car, they just hovered in the middle.

It had a bit of a  _ 'last night on earth' _ feel to it, so maybe that was how Jet justified his actions. Except that he didn't explain or excuse them. His mom told him to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, and this, he had deemed, was one of those moments.

Jet had never kissed a man before and certainly not a teenager. Zuko's lips were soft and surprised. He was sweeter and warmer than he had imagined. He expected himself to be disgusted, revolted, to shove Zuko away, but he didn't. He stayed stock still, one hand holding onto Zuko's shirt collar, the other holding his chin firmly in place.

There were many different types of kisses and most served a purpose to convey emotions, and while Jet wasn't always the best with his words, he was pretty good with his lips. Zuko's fingers ghosted along the edge of his jaw, knuckles sliding against the sensitive skin of his neck.

Something sweet and warm bloomed like sunshine in Zuko's stomach, fluttering up his throat and coming out with a sigh.

Jet pulled them apart with his eyes still closed, fingers still trapping Zuko's chin, hand still clenched around his shirt collar. The humidity of the air raised several degrees.

He opened his reddened lips to say something, but Zuko beat him to the punch, "Don't say sorry," he panted quickly.

"Okay," Jet sighed, peeking at the teenager. Zuko was eighteen, he was an adult, but he was still in high school for Christ's sake. This was a mistake, that was for certain.

But Zuko had tasted like his mom's cooking and smelled like cold air and hair gel.

He kissed him again, painfully soft and achingly slow, and Zuko let him in without a fight.

It was nice to know, after months of curiosity, that Jet's thinly veiled flirting was real, and the piece of gum that was always in his mouth was hot cinnamon.

Slowly, Jet unclenched his fingers from Zuko's shirt collar and swiped his thumb over his lips, making the teenager's heart try and leap from his chest.

"We should go upstairs," he said quietly, still unable to breathe correctly.

"Yeah," Zuko responded, still sitting precariously close to the edge of his seat, feeling sort of like a dog begging shamelessly for more.

But Jet wasn't one to hand out more than he was willing to give, because he led the teenager up the stairs to his apartment like he had done a thousand times before, and they pretended like this didn't change everything.

But it changed everything.

~0~

Zuko didn't come to the airport with the Juarez tribe because he wasn't family, and it would have been weird and hard to explain to his dad why he was going. So they had said their goodbyes that night. Jet had taken the next day off to finish getting ready, and Zuko didn't blame him.

In the morning, when he woke, DeMarco was sitting in his living room, staring at the newsfeed on the computer. He was sitting where Jet always sat, and it sparked something vicious in Zuko to see him there.

"Hey, uh," He started, still frowning at the screen "Juarez left you somethin' in the garage I think,"

Zuko took the stairs two at a time and hustled through the halls with as much dignity he could muster before bursting in the garage. He was greeted with a flurry of scrabbling paws and sharp yips and wet tongues.

An enormous pit bull and a Yorkie that looked like an overgrown rat swarmed him, wiggling excitedly and covering whatever they could reach in kisses.

On the other side of the garage were two beds and two bags of dog food and a literal tote full of toys. Zuko waded through them and got to the tote that had a note on top. Scrawled in Jet's harsh handwriting read,

_ "This is Smellerbee and Longshot," _ The brindled pitbull and lovingly groomed Yorkie respectively,  _ "they are my two best friends in the whole world. Obviously, I can't take them with me, and I already talked to your father about it, and he said if you wanted to keep them, it was fine with him. If you don't want them, call this number, and my mom will come and get them. But I think you'll really like them. Smellerbee loves to be held, and Longshot will always keep your feet warm. Take care of my dogs and take care of yourself,  _ **_ Jet _ ** _ " _ .

Zuko read the note three more times before he settled on the concrete floor of the garage and let the two dogs climb on his lap. They were the good sort of heavy, like a weighted blanket or a hefty hug. He thought about calling the number, and he thought about the stress of keeping two dogs alive, but the more he thought about taking care of them, the more he liked it.

He understood fully what Jet was getting at. He had to keep himself alive in order to keep the dogs alive, and he had to admit, Jet was smarter than he looked.

He looked down at the dogs who were looking up at him, tails thrashing.

"Okay. You can stay"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for another time jump  
> Yes, Jet's captain's name is Rogers. Like Captain America. I'm a giant nerd. I know.


	6. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some PTSD, nothing too bad but it def triggered my (low grade) anxiety to write it.

_ FOUR YEARS LATER _

Even when the world has gone to shit, and it doesn't feel like there's a point to anything anymore, donuts are arguably the only part of humanity worth saving.

Jet couldn't decide if he wanted to curl into a ball or sprawl out across his entire booth, so he just sat with his head in his hands, listening to the three-year-old sitting behind him loudly exclaim to his mother how much he enjoyed jelly donuts.

Jet was partial to chocolate, but he didn't weigh in on the subject.

New York hadn't changed, and he was happy that it hadn't. He didn't have a lot of constants right now, and everything was pitched crooked on its axis. He didn't know what to do with his hands if they weren't holding a gun anymore, or what sneakers felt like on his feet. There was no sand being flung in his face, and every loud noise was not a threat.

He was safe, and he hated it.

But he couldn't shut it out from his head. The chime of the door every time it opened set his teeth on edge; the rhythmic kicking the back of his seat was getting from the toddler made his left hand tremble.

He needed to leave the room, the restaurant, the city. He needed to go, but where? The only place that felt real was the dunes sprayed with bullets and women with shrouded eyes.

This is real too, he told himself, but the notion almost made him scoff out loud. This wasn't real, this was the biggest game of make-believe he had ever seen, and he had three sisters. When he was ten, they pretended he was a girl named Janet for four weeks until he had a small identity crisis, and his mom had to intervene.

This was not real; these people were always faking it, every smile, every laugh, every charitable act. He could see through it all.

The room started to seem a little bit smaller than he had remembered, and he couldn't quite seem to get a full inhale of air into his lungs.

**_ Buzz _ **

**_ Buzz _ **

**_ Buzz _ **

His phone was sleek and black, small enough to fit in his hand. For so long, he had his fist curled around a walkie-talkie or a CB.

He tapped the little green button and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Jet Juarez?"

"Yes," he responded cautiously.

"This is Bill Staley from Gideon Security, do you have a minute to talk?"

Gideon Security. That was the company he worked for when he was a bodyguard a lifetime ago. His first name sounded odd; Juarez was his only name for too long.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I have some time,"

"I understand that you have just gotten back from Afghanistan, am I correct?"

"It was Iraq in the beginning, then Iran then Syria,"

"I see. I'm sorry to spring this upon you so soon after you've come home, but there's a small emergency."

"Look, I told you guys that I probably wouldn't be coming back to the company when I decided to go on a second tour, and that was three years and two more tours ago."

"We understand that, but if you could just listen for two minutes, we would really appreciate it."

_ You've ruined my donut now _ ; Jet Thought as he stared at the half-eaten chocolate circle and the now cold coffee. It probably wasn't the guy's fault entirely; he couldn't quite remember how long he had stared at the table with his head in his hands. It had been long enough for the jelly donut toddler to have left.

"You have two minutes," he sighed, pushing away his food.

"Eight months ago, it was brought to our attention that your former client, Mr. Agni, had acquired himself a stalker."

_ A what?! _

"Zuko or the old man?" Jet asked, forgetting that he should just be listening.

"The son, Zuko."

At this, Jet sat straight up in his booth, feeling more awake than he had in the week he had been home.

"It started when he began his new job at Hellman's as a junior market research analyst eight months ago. We don't know if the stalker works with him or interacts with him during the day. He had received over thirty dead phone calls and surveillance photos of himself,"

In one motion, he had all his trash in his hands, and he was stalking out the door of the cafe, flipping up the collar of his coat to brace the wind. The wind in Syria would throw sand in your face, but in New York, it might be an old newspaper or a stranger's lugey. Sand sounded better at the moment.

"And what do you want me to do?"

"We want you to come back to work just until the police find the stalker."

"And what does the kid think about all of this?" The city bus was right on time. He found a seat in the back, away from the old people and bright-haired gender-neutral people in the front.

"What do you mean?"

"What does the client think about all of this? What is his input, opinion?"

"We... haven't asked him yet."

"Didn't think so," Jet sighed. "And why do you need me? DeMarco is a good enough guard; he should be able to handle this situation just as well as I could,"

"DeMarco?"

"Yeah, Vance DeMarco, the guard that took my full-time place at the Agni house,"

"Vance DeMarco quit four years ago, not three months after you were deployed,"

_ That son of a bitch. _ Hot rage flashed through Jet. He had trusted that asshole to take care of Zuko while he was gone, and he just up and quits. If he ever saw that New Jersey dickwad again, he was going to dropkick him into the Hudson River.

"If DeMarco quit, then who the hell had been taking care of the kid this whole time?" Jet barked out louder than he intended, earning a few startled looks from the grandmas a few seats up. He smiled at them as reassuringly as possible. He had been dangerously close to saying  **_ my  _ ** kid.

"Obviously, we hired other people to protect him," the man on the other line scrambled "He hasn't been without a guard since you left, he's perfectly safe,"

"If he were safe, you wouldn't be calling me," Jet growled.

"I guess you're right, Mr. Juarez. So what do you say? Will you come back to work just for a few weeks?" he asked, almost sheepishly.

Jet wanted to say no. He wanted to tell them that his life of protecting people was over. He craved to get up in the morning at the time he desired to get up, not what an alarm clock or Sargent screamed. He wanted to work with his mom in the restaurant he helped build, and be surrounded by people that loved him because he was great at making pozole, not because he fought a war for them.

This was not a good idea. Jet had been gone for too long this time, and he didn't know if he could reset his brain back to what it had been before.

"Is this really serious?"

"I wouldn't be calling you if it wasn't,"

He sighed and glanced out the window. It was in the last month of winter, and it didn't want to leave. The cold kept its death grip on everything and everyone.

"Yeah. I'll come back. When do you want me at the house?"

"Actually, can you go and relieve the current guard, in an hour or so?"

"I'm in my civilian clothes," Jet countered.

"We're really desperate," The man replied. Jet Tipped his head all the way back until it collided forcefully with the back of his bus seat, a long sigh leaving his lips.

"Yeah. Is he at the house?"

"No, he's at his job at Hellman's. I'll get you the address."

Jet angrily memorized the address and hung up the phone after briefly bartering his pay. He had won. He grumbled to himself as he scrubbed his hand through his hair. He had not expected his day to go this way.

"Babysitter trouble?" an old woman to his left asked, smiling at him. From everything she must have heard, it had to have sounded like he was fighting with the sitter. Oddly enough, that's  _ exactly  _ what it felt like.

"You have no idea," He grinned back.

"How old is your child?" She was so sweet and old, with her crocheted hat and floral purse.

"Old enough to not need a sitter all the time," he joked. She laughed with him.

"I hear that,"

Jet paused, evaluating the woman. She looked old enough to have experience with this sort of thing, so he figured he might as well ask.

"I've been away from my uh, kid, for a long time, and I don't know how he'll react when he sees me again. We didn't really leave on the best terms either. Do you have any advice on what I should do to make it easier for him?"

"How long have you been away?"

"I was in the middle east for four years."

She nodded. "Go slow. He won't be used to you anymore, and you might be a total stranger to him if you've been gone that long. I'm sure you both have changed,"

Jet nodded. He had been right in asking her for help. Mothers always know best.

"Thank you," he said, and she nodded back.

"Good luck with your child,"

"I'll need all the luck I can get," Jet mumbled.

~0~

Something must have changed with Zuko. When Jet had known him in his teenage years, he would rather have been skinned alive then work in a massive office building and be another cog in the 'machine'.

So imagine Jet's surprise when Hellman's was a giant office building, at least ten stories tall, all chic and modern.

The current bodyguard Zuko had was called by the company to tell them that Jet was the one coming in to relieve them. He kept his eye out for a person in a suit. That was not the best thing to look for, because he walked in the elevator that was humming generic music, eight men in identical black suits filed in after him: all caucasian, all brown-haired and same build. Jet Didn't even work there, and he hated it for Zuko.

The elevator dinged with false cheer, and Jet stepped out. He was incredibly out of place in this stark white, coffee smelling environment. His jacket was black too, but made of leather and smelled like cigarettes. He had on his camo pants still and laced up boots because it was the only thing that he knew how to wear at this point. His first tour, he had been dying to get out of the uniform and relax in jeans, but not this time. Four years wearing pretty much the same thing, you develop a dependency on the routine, and with everything so different now that he was home, he needed that routine more than anything.

It sufficed to say that with his camo pants and giant combat boots, a leather jacket, and a smile that could topple empires, he was a sight for sore eyes.

A young man caught his attention in the corner. He had in an earpiece, and though he didn't have sunglasses on, he was definitely a bodyguard. He caught sight of Jet almost immediately.

"Adam Giles, I work with Gideon Security," He said, a pleasant smile on his mouth. He had a firm handshake, and Jet could see himself liking the young kid. He couldn't be any older than twenty-five.

"Jet Juarez. Good to see that they finally have competent guards now," He smiled back.

"Yeah, well, this one's a handful. Thanks for taking over for me. I haven't been home to see my girl in almost two days."

Jet fought his frown when he realized Giles wasn't joking when he said Zuko was a handful. Most days, he had to bribe the kid to even come out of his bedroom.

"Well I've got him from here, you go,"

"Yeah?" He asked excitedly. He wasn't going to argue.

"Go, just tell me where he is,"

Adam nodded to the large conference room in the back. He didn't see Zuko's face, but he saw the familiar shock of ink-black hair.

"Thanks, go see your girl."

Adam clapped him on the shoulder and raced out the door. Jet felt a twitch in his chest. In the back of his mind, he wished there was someone looking forward to him coming after work. He had given his dogs to Zuko four years ago, and he had to admit, he sort of wanted them back. They were always overjoyed when he walked into the apartment or picked them up from doggy daycare.

Jet ignored the white-collared workers around him that couldn't help but stare at him, but none ever asked who he was or what he was doing there. He pulled up a chair within viewing distance of the conference room and took a seat.

The meeting ran for another hour, and he only caught glimpses of Zuko between other people. From what he could see, the kid had grown.

Then suddenly, everyone was standing in the conference room and filing out of the door, laughing in the way white men in power laugh. There was a chorus of  _ 'See you later, Jim' _ and  _ 'Tell Lucy I said hello,' _ and every other generic office space salutations. Zuko didn't look around as he left the room, he just flocked straight to the water fountain where he chugged three little paper cups full of water, before walking straight down a beige hall.

He may have gotten taller, but his observational skills hadn't improved any. Jet rolled his eyes and got up after him.

He wanted to do what he had done with his oldest sister and surprise attack him, but he didn't think that greeting would end the way he hoped. Lucia had loved it, though, and they both cried in her office for a long time.

Instead, he raised his fist to knock on the open door that read "Zuko Agni" on the placard. They had his name out of order, but that wasn't what stopped Jet from knocking.

Zuko had his own office, even if it wasn't that big. He had a window and a desk and enough filing cabinets to get lost in. In the corner, there was a giant fern plant that threatened to devour his desk chair and a fish tank with two vibrant beta fish. At least five different cups of tea sat on every available surface. He didn't want to be creepy and just watch him, but he decided that he didn't care and did it anyway.

Zuko was twenty-two now and had finally grown into his limbs. He was sleek now, not the gangly teenager that Jet once watched trip over his own feet and face plant it into the kitchen floor, no. This was almost a different person. Except that it wasn't. His hair had been cut and was now stylized in the modern way of shaved sides and longer on top, no longer hiding his scar. The scar had faded some, no longer glaring and angry. His feet didn't find every possible thing to stumble over but instead carried him gracefully across the room.

He was different, but really the same.

Jet knocked twice on the door frame.

"Be with you in a sec," He mumbled, digging through his desk for something.

Jet knocked again, too nervous to smirk.

"Yeah, I heard you, just-" The words died on his tongue as he glanced up at the intruding person. His jaw fell open. Slowly, he stood up.

"I got back last week," Jet offered. "I should have stopped by sooner but,"

Zuko still hadn't moved. This was not the reaction Jet had expected. He wasn't counting on a hug or a heartfelt reunion, but perhaps a response would have been nice.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi." Jet whispered back.

"Do I have to give your dogs back?" He blurted, eyes still wide.

"I, I don't know. As long as I get to see them sometimes, I guess not."

"Okay."

Jet scratched the back of his head as the seconds ticked by.

The room smelled like him, which was to say it smelled like hair gel, fresh soap, and tea.

"How have you been?" he ground out when it was apparent the wide-eyed kid across from him was tongue-tied.

"Good, you?"

"I'm fine, how are the dogs?"

Zuko flicked his gaze to his desk, where there was a small framed picture of the two dogs sprawled across his body like a blanket. Jet couldn't help but smile. Those dogs had been a considerable part of his life, and it lifted something in his chest to see the three of them at ease with each other.

"Smellerbee had an abscess on her tooth about a year ago, but we got it taken care of. Longshot has taken over one of my couches entirely. He won't even let Bee on it," The words about the dogs poured out, Zuko could care less about talking about himself, but the dogs, he could talk to anyone for hours about them.

"And they're behaving?"

"Yes, absolutely. Never once has there been an accident, but I did find the hard way that Smellerbee has a very refined taste and only chews up Armani and Prada,"

Jet cringed, but Zuko was smiling small, just a tiny curl to his lip, showing that he found it more funny than destructive.

"You look, good kid, really," He said, a sad smile stretching his lips. As he was about to take another step closer, there was a voice at the door.

"Hey Zuko," someone called out. "Oh, sorry," a confused voice sounded from the doorway. There was a rather disgruntled looking middle-aged man in the doorway, a thick frown on his face.

"Zuko, who is this?"

"Jet Juarez," Jetinterrupted, sticking out his hand for it to be shaken. The man was still frowning, but he accepted. "I'm a friend of Zuko's, and I just got home from Syria, thought I'd pop in and say hello if that's alright." Though it wasn't a straight lie, Jet felt a little dirty for not telling him the whole truth.

Instantly, the man's mood changed.

"Oh not a problem at all, Hellman's is a proud supporter of the military, you can stop by anytime you like."

"Thank you," Jet nodded.

"So, how do you know Mr. Agni?" he asked, already deciding that the two of them were friends.

"Oh," He glanced at the discombobulated teenager-man- from a few feet away.

"He used to be my bodyguard," Zuko responded, collecting himself rather quickly. An easy, fake smile graced his face.

When Jet had looked at him when he first walked in the door, he hadn't  _ really  _ looked at him. He saw that he got taller and wasn't skin and bones awkward teenager anymore. A deep, stuttering sensation in his stomach reared its head for the first time in almost four years. All traces of adolescents and baby fat had long since dissolved, leaving him angular and beautiful. His deeply set golden eyes watched Jet  _ see  _ him, and the faintest of flushes crept up his neck, peeking up from the top of his precise Windsor knot. Looking back to the man in the doorway, his straight white smile didn't falter. Jet wondered how long it took him to master that talent.

"It's been a while since I last saw you, two years?" he glanced back at Jet to verify.

"Four," he corrected, squinting at him. Zuko didn't react; just waved away the fact like he didn't care. That deep sensation that had almost gotten him into trouble morphed into a sharp twinge of sadness. Which one was he pretending to feel? That he had missed Jet or that he didn't even care enough to keep track of the years?

"Glad to be back?" the man whose name Jet didn't even know joked.

"Very happy, yes," he lied.

"I'd love to grab coffee with you and chat, but I have to get back to work you know, the daily grind," The man started laughing like he was funny and Jet joined in because he didn't have the patience to mean. "Alright, see you on Monday, Zuko, and soldier, hope to see you again,"

They exchanged empty goodbyes frosted with fake laughter and topped off with a confused feeling that rich white men radiate.

As soon as the man could no longer see them, Zuko dropped his cheery smile like a switch being flicked. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Jet again, but this time, taking inventory.

"You still have all your limbs," he commented dryly.

"And you still have your warm personality,"

Zuko looked up at him, head tilted back, arms crossed, body leaning against his desk. It made Jet's mouth dry, and he didn't know why.

"How did you get here without Giles seeing you?"

"I didn't. I talked to him, and he pointed you out. I'm the one taking you home tonight,"  _ that sentence sounded better in my head, _ he thought, physically repressing a cringe.

"I was under the impression that you had quit the bodyguard industry," he said emotionlessly. If he had an opinion on that, he didn't show it. Not even an eye twitch or voice change.

"I had, but I got a call, not two hours ago from my old boss."

"What did he want?"

There was something hard about this person that he had become. He was no longer naive and innocent, trusting, and sweet. Not only had he changed, but he had also adapted to his new environment. There was no emotion he could portray that wouldn't be preyed upon, so he had settled for complete indifference with a thick stroke of suspicion and defense.

"He told me about your stalker."

Zuko's back stiffened, but he rolled his eyes. Walking to his desk chair, he sat in it hard, tipping his head back.

Jet watched his throat as he spoke, and something in his stomach tightened.

"I don't have a stalker; it's just all one big prank, I'm fine."

"He said they took pictures of you, surveillance pictures,"

"So some weirdo knows where Giles parks the car when I come to work and they took a picture or two at some diplomats wedding, good for them. None of those things are secrets,"

"And the phone calls?" Jet found himself crossing his arms over his chest. Zuko snorted but continued to spin on his swivel chair.

"Not exciting in the least. If you're going to prank call someone, at the very least make it funny. They didn't even say anything, just breathed really hard on the other end."

"And you're not worried at all?" Jet asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not in the least. Giles can handle it; I'm perfectly safe. You can go back to whatever important thing you were doing before because I'm fine,"

With a sigh, Jet reached out a hand and stopped the chair from spinning. Zuko's eyes flew open and landed on Jet, cheeks pink but jaw set.

"And if I say that I'm staying?"

"Then," Zuko didn't scoot away, and neither did Jet. They were less than a foot apart. "You will be wasting your time,"

"I'm okay with that. Are you?"

Zuko wasn't pretending to deliberate; he was genuinely considering the options. He was still a pragmatic, practical thinker even after four years. Jet was happy; he still had that talent.

"Yes. Only because Giles needs a break more often, and if I have to listen to him continuously gush about his girlfriend for more than three hours a day, I will make him crash the car."

"Who says I'm not gonna talk about my girlfriend nonstop?" Jet teased, but it got caught in his throat when Zuko looked back up at him, cognac eyes aflame.

"We both know you don't have a girlfriend," he said without faltering, not a shred of uncertainty in his voice.

Jet was suddenly rather uncomfortable and took a step back, but determined to keep the teasing atmosphere going.

"What about you, huh? Find anyone worth your time?"

Zuko shrugged. "A few in college, I guess. But," he opened his mouth to say more, but remembered something and snapped it shut.

"And college? How did that go for you?"

"I graduated top of my class in business and marketing six months ago,"

"Congratulations," Jet raised an eyebrow.

Zuko shrugged, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Was it any better than high school?"

"The people were better, nicer, I guess. No one had the energy to be mean, all of them were too hungover to function most of the time,"

"How's your family?" Jet collapsed in a stiff chair across from the desk, the only one not overflowing with paper.

"Mama had the baby. A boy. Azulon. He'll be four next spring,"

Another 'congratulations' was ready to be propelled off his tongue, but the sudden calm in Zuko's eyes told him that this was not something to congratulate on.

Clearing his throat, Zuko fussed with his jar of pencils on his desk. "How was the war?"

_ This room is soul-sucking and awful _ ; Jet concluded as he sprawled out in his chair, legs stretching out, hands behind his head. He wished he felt this confident in truth, but he strongly believed in the philosophy of 'fake it till you make it'.

"Lots of sand," he watched the fluorescent lights buzz.

Zuko pursed his lips like he was daring himself to be petulant, or daring himself not to be. The sharpness, the edge that Jet had seen when he came back, was peeking through. He recognized it immediately. It was the defense that was made when things got too hard. It was the callus that forms from routine wear and tear, the thorns evolved after generations of being eaten.

Jet recognized it because he was a bearer of thorns too.

"Ask me. I know you want to. Everyone does,"

_ Did you kill anyone? How many? What does it feel like? _

"Are you home for good now?" he whispered instead, his body perfectly still and seemingly calm, but his fingers on his left hand were fluttering erratically.

Oh.

"Yeah, this was my last time. For good,"

The new graduate's mouth worked over a word, searching for the braver to enunciate it. "Promise?"

If it was a tonal shift, Jet didn't know because the tone beforehand would have had to have been a set emotion. There were a lot of emotions happening right now, but none identifiable.

"Promise."

~0~

"You have a Tesla?" Jet couldn't keep his mouth shut as Zuko tossed him the keys. "And you want me to drive it?"

"It was a graduation present from my dad," He hopped in the passenger seat and Jet couldn't contain his joy.

"This is amazing," he whispered, sliding into the smooth black seats. It smelled new, everything was shiny and chrome or matte and black.

"How do I turn it on?" He slid his hands around the neck of the wheel and glanced at the fob in his hand. No keys.

"It's already on," Zuko pointed at the controls in front of Jet, all lit up.

"Oh,"

He couldn't control his giddy smile as he navigated the sleek white beast around the parking garage. It hummed almost undetectably underneath them. He had heard somewhere they can go zero to sixty in six seconds. With an itchy accelerator foot, he wanted to test it.

"Do you still live at the house?"

Zuko shook his head no and tapped on the screen where the radio controls should be. "Take me home," he said monotonously, and the whole car dinged, brightly colored arrows directing them to the left.

With hardly a touch to the accelerator, the car surged forward.

Zuko glanced at him, "When was the last time you drove a car?"

"You were there,"

"It's been four years?"

Other people drove other places, and when he came home for a week two years ago, he rode his motorcycle.

"In a car, yeah,"

"Oh god," he sighed, running a hand over his face. "You won't have to worry about a stalker because your driving is what's going to do me in,"

"I am a fantastic driver, thank you," Jet snapped back, holding back a laugh.

Zuko arched an eyebrow, a look in his eye that was dangerous. The memory of what happened the last time they were in a car together came crashing back, swallowing up Jet like the riptide. Something stirred in his stomach, hot and hungry.

"Right," he whispered, turning back to the road.


	7. During

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years and six months earlier, Jet is six months into his deployment.  
> The next chapter will be in present time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mention of suicide

_ I fucking hate sand; Jet _ growled at himself as he stalked into his barracks, willing the grit to leave his body. He was lined with it. Every crease, every wrinkle, every single goddamn square inch of his body, was  _ sand _ .

Jet loathed sand. He wanted to set in fire. He wanted it hauled onto a rocket ship and blasted to the sun. He wanted it gone.

The sun, sand, and the wind were relentless—all the time. Getting shit on by a pigeon in the Bronx didn't sound so bad when, out here in the desert, you could shake enough dirt out of your fatigues to make a considerable-sized sandcastle.

He only had six months left on his tour; it was one of the shorter ones he's had. But there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't like. It was the same feeling that led him out here to this bombed up wasteland, to begin with. He was  _ doing _ things,  _ important _ things. He was helping, or at the very least, he was doing everything he could do to help. He didn't know any other way at this point. He was good at this. If you're good at something, why leave it?

His bunk was calling him, but so was the shower, and the mess hall's voice was gearing up to a crescendo, so he just stood there, deciding which was being the loudest.

"Juarez!" someone barked. Jet whirled. He didn't recognize the person; he was pale and wearing a tan outfit. That was pretty much every soldier he knew. The badge said 'Jones,' but he didn't bother to commit it to memory.

"Call for you in the rec hall,"

He would have to go through the sand again.

_ Great. _

~0~

"Hello?"

The pause after was so long; he repeated the greeting. He had gotten a call from Carla three days before, maybe one of the kids found her phone and somehow got patched through.

Instead, it was a different voice. "Hi,"

"Zuko?"

"Yeah, it's me,"

Jet frowned, standing up from the chair in the tiny, curtained-off corner of the massive tent. "Is everythin' okay? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Um, how are you?"

"...good, I guess,"

"Good,"

This pause was long and definitely awkward.

"I hate to ask this because I appreciate the call, but why  _ did  _ you call?"

"Oh, um, I was wondering if you, um, knew if..." Jet could hear him scrambling across the room, obviously looking for something to talk about. "If you knew..." he heard a soft grunt, then the sniffling of a dog at the receiver. "When the last time Smellerbee and Longshot were vaccinated. I'm taking them in to be groomed, and I figured a vet check would be a good idea,"

"Zuko, look at a clock right now and tell me what time it is in New York,"

He sighed gently, "Three thirteen in the morning,"

"And you just happened to be awake?"

"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled.

"So you called me, from across the world, durin' a war, askin' my senior officers to speak to me because you couldn't sleep?" He asked incredulously.

"I guess," he replied meekly.

Jet started laughing, giant, messy belly laughs that was too loud to have so close to the phone, yet he couldn't help himself.

"I always used to bug you when I couldn't sleep," he defended, but Jet was still lost in his laughter to reply.

"You really are somethin'; you know that?"

Silence, then, "So do you know if they're all vaccinated?"

"They're good till next spring,"

"Okay,"

"Are you sure there isn't anythin' else?" This was the first time they had spoken for the entire time he was gone. They both pretended like they didn't miss each other for selfish reasons.

"I... had a nightmare," He waited for Jet to berate and scold him for calling him for something as trivial as a nightmare.

But Zuko didn't have just nightmares, he had night terrors, and Jet vividly remembered how violent and despicable they were.

"I didn't scream though; I had sleep paralysis, so I didn't thrash," he said conversationally. "Better than waking up on the floor with a fat lip again," he lied.

Jet didn't know what the dreams were about; he never asked. But the kid always collected himself up into as small of a ball as he could when they were over, up away from the floors and shadows. The only information he would give was that something was coming for him; they were going to get him. He said this while wildly flailing, yelping, and smacking at Jet while he tried to hold him down.

"Did they get you this time?" he asked quietly, barely above a whisper. Zuko could ignore the question if he wanted, pretending that he didn't hear it.

He cleared his clogged throat, and a dog whined somewhere in his room. Jet listened as Bee's heavy body leaped up on whatever piece of furniture Zuko was on and settling her nose by the phone, her maternal grunts calming them both.

"Uh, yeah. They got me," he laughed without humor, "I didn't think I would wake up this time,"

There was an unspoken agreement that neither of them mentions sleeping pills. Jet didn't think he was depressed or suicidal, at least not enough to try and swallow the whole bottle, but he couldn't make himself say it. No matter what guard he had right now, they weren't good enough to catch Zuko when he was slipping down under the water. Jet hardly trusted himself enough to see the signs in time. The sleeping pills would be blood in shark-infested waters. There was no need to tempt whatever lies below the surface.

"I'm not crazy, am I?" he whispered into the receiver.

"No, Zuko, you are not crazy. And if you can't fight it, outsmart it. Sleep out in the living room. Bring the dogs with you. Turn on the television. Get up and do somethin'," It was the closest he could say to ' _ run _ ', except that the thing he was outrunning would follow like a shadow.

"Okay,"

"Are you eating enough?" This wasn't his job anymore; the kid wasn't his responsibility right now. But here he was, clucking over him like a flustered hen.

"Yes,"

"Are you going outside enough?"

"Like, eight times a day with the dogs,"

"Good," he faltered. He had been expecting a fight, and when he didn't get one, he was at a loss. "I'll be back in a few months, and everythin' will go back to normal. We can go back to me watching  _ 'Hell's Kitchen,' _ and you can go back to pretend watchin' it with me, alright?"

"And you'll teach me more fighting stuff, right?"

"Yes, only if you sleep, though. I don't train zombies."

"Deal," Zuko murmured.

"You can call whenever you want, okay?"

"I will. Good night, Jet,"

"Good night, Zuko,"

~0~

There were unforeseen things in the future, as is expected when one is alive. Neither knew that the war would kick up its devilish hooves and have Jet's full attention. Neither of them thought that Jet would decide to stay for three and a half more years and that Zuko would grow up during that time.

Everything would change, and neither would know what to do about it.


	8. New Roommate

Whoever the hell named Zuko's apartment building 'Blue Bird Chateaus' needs to be roundhouse kicked down a flight of stairs.

Never before had Jet contained such strong feelings about the name of a complex that he didn't even  _ live  _ in. When he saw that the parking garage had full-time security guards, and you had to have some sort of identification to get into the complex, he realized that he was out of his element. Not many simple situations got him flustered and anxious, but having white wannabe cops stare at him as he walked by, making it painfully evident that they had guns. It made his spine prickle. They didn't see a military veteran; they saw a Mexican man in partial street clothes following a weak, unsuspecting rich kid,

Even the elevator was nice. There was no mystery puddle in the corner, no burnt-out cigarettes scattered on the cracked linoleum like his old apartment building had, hell, all the lightbulbs were lit up too.

Zuko never looked up from his phone and pressed the highest level possible, the twelfth floor.

A disgustingly cheery ding announced their arrival at the top floor, and Zuko shouldered his way out without a word. Polite beige walls greeted them, periwinkle carpeting and tasteful sconces led the way.

Jet was suddenly acutely aware of his scuffed up boots and a leather jacket that reeked of smoke.

Bored looking as ever, Zuko swiped a flat black card over the box by his door, and it beeped.

"No key?" Jet raised an eyebrow.

"Locks can be picked," Zuko shouldered open the door.

_ If they want in, they can break down the door.  _ He thought to himself, closing the door behind him. It was a wide foyer with a bookshelf and cabinet that led the way to a large modern living room. Before he could take in any more surroundings, there were two dull thuds then the skittering of claws on the hardwood. Smellerbee and Longshot flocked to Zuko, sniffing and licking and whining, Longshot bouncing like a rubber ball, on his third jump, Zuko caught him, slinging him up on his shoulder like he would a child. Smellerbee had her stubby dog legs wrapped around Zuko's waist, trying to lick  _ through  _ his blazer when she saw Jet.

She had been rescued from a dogfighting ring that Jet's cop friend had split up. She was broken and marred, her ears clipped off, and most of her tail missing, but she still thrashed all the same when Jet gave her the very first belly rub of her life.

A low  _ 'uff' _ erupted from her barrel chest, sending Longshot into a frenzy. He writhed, his squeaking yap echoing off the brick walls until Zuko had no choice but to put him down.

Smellerbee kept plastered to Zuko's side as she growled and grumbled, politely declining Zuko's reassurance that Jet was a friend.

It had been four years, but that was a good chunk of their lives that he had missed out on.

Slowly, he squatted down and offered the back of his hand to Longshot, who was groomed to perfection. Both of them were. They were plump and shiny, nails clipped, and happy looking.

Longshot vibrated with his non-threatening growl, suspiciously sniffing the outstretched hand, creeping closer until he got closer to Jet's face.

"Hey, big boy," he said gently, and before the dog could mentally process it, his tail was already wagging. He continued his inspection, his tail getting faster with every sniff.

With an excited yelp, he launched himself into Jet's chest, his boisterous noises attracting Smellerbee. Zuko watched on, smile caught on his mouth.

~0~

Jet decided he could spend the rest of his life like this. He was laying spread eagle on the plush carpet of the living room, a ninety-pound pitbull on top of him like a weighted blanket and a Yorkie stuffed under his chin like a malfunctioning airplane pillow. Zuko sat a few feet away, quietly sipping something out of a cup and reading a thick book that looked so boring. Jet couldn't even look at it.

The apartment was amazing. In the brief time he had gotten to look at it before being taken down by the two dogs, he could see that it was definitely something someone as rich as the Agni's could afford.

Everything accented in marble, the walls sparse but the bookshelves overflowing. Everything was the epitome of modern, what wasn't marble was shiny new and chrome, the television was massive and flat, the couch was gray and soft, the kitchen had yet to be looked at, but Jet assumed it was just as shiny and sterile.

Zuko glanced over the top of his book, glasses precariously close to dropping off the edge of his ruler-straight nose. "Have you changed your mind and want to take them back with you?" It was phrased like he didn't care either way, but his sharp brown eyes were on the dogs.

"Nah, they've got it made here. And besides," he grunted as Smellerbee rolled over none too gently on his stomach, knocking all the air from his lungs, "I'm living with my mom right now, and she doesn't have the patience for a dog, let alone two,"

"What happened to your apartment?"

"I didn't plan on bein' gone for four years when I agreed to go back for the first round,"

Zuko glanced away.

"So my landlord and I figured it would be better for someone else to use the room while I was gone. I haven't really looked anywhere for a place yet, and besides," a wicked grin was expertly flashed at Zuko, the kind that used to make him turn bright red. This time he only turned a light shade of pink, but a color all the same. "I'm bunking with you until we find the son of a bitch that's stalkin' you,"

"Are you serious? You're going to stay here?"

"What? Scared I'll snore and eat all your gross vegan food?"

"I'm not vegan," Zuko frowned but waved it off, "And I told you, there is no stalker,"

"Oh?" Jet raised an eyebrow. "Then why did Giles text me to tell me where he put the pictures?"

"He kept them?" Zuko rolled his eyes.

"Wanna get up?" He asked the dogs, who bounced off him like a flash. Jet groaned as he raised himself up off the floor, stretching out his back when he got to his knees. "I'm too old for this," he joked. Zuko was watching him from over his book cover, face hidden. Judging by the tips of his ears, he was blushing. It shouldn't be game, ruffling his feathers. It shouldn't give Jet some sort of smug satisfaction, and it  _ certainly _ shouldn't be something that he wants to do, again and again, and again. But here was, the back of his mind churning with new ways to make it happen.

Giles wasn't wrong when he described the cabinet as 'something out of rich people catalogs'. Jet pondered the idea that maybe there was a catalog called such a name. It held expensive figurines behind its glass windows; the wood was heavy-looking and walnut colored. He understood the appeal to wood like this, but he had to say, particle board kitchen cabinets painted blue worked just fine in his house growing up.

_ "Third drawer down, under a phonebook _ ," he muttered to himself under his breath. Sure enough, there was a stack of photos. Not the kind that you print out at a supermarket or Kinkos, whoever was doing this was making sure that there was no way to track the pictures.

_ Zuko walking out of a coffee shop. _

_ Zuko talking with a woman at a restaurant. _

_ Zuko taking the dogs on a walk. _

_ The dogs leaving the apartment with someone else, probably a dog walker when the kid didn't have time. _

_ A close-up, through the window shot of him in his bedroom, buttoning up his shirt, a lump under the covers, making it evident that he hadn't slept alone. _

Jet gritted his teeth.

The last one was the worst, though. When he was told that there were pictures, he had expected the worst. He thought there would be some of Zuko in rather compromising situations, but someone how this topped them all.

It was a photograph of the security system keypad on the inside of the door. There were eight photos with it, each showing Zuko pressing a different number on the pad.

Slapping the papers on the cabinet, Jet stormed across the room. "Shut the shades, for fuck's sake," he barked, yanking the pale drapes shut. "I don't know how the ever lovin' hell they got pictures up inside your apartment when this is the top floor of the buildin', and the buildin's around this one aren't even close to this tall," He charged into the kitchen and jerked the rest of the curtains close. "Did you even look at the photos?" he threw an accusatory hand at the papers that had somehow slithered off the  _ Anthropologie _ hutch and onto the floor.

"Yes," Zuko shot back.

"Then why aren't you even a little nervous?" He wasn't supposed to yell at a client, that was an excellent way to lose your job. Jet couldn't gather enough shits for it even to be a factor in his mind.

"My dad says it's fine,  _ so _ it's fine,"

"And you're just gonna listen to him? Even though it's wrong?"

"Yes."

"Zuko," he snapped, stomping back the photos and snatching the eight that showed his hand tapping the numbers. "They know what the passcode is to get in your home, where you  _ sleep _ ,"

"I change the code once a week," he defended, arms crossed.

"That isn't the point. The point is, they know how to get the code if they want it. They know where you live, where you get your coffee, who your friends are, and when the dogs leave with the walker. They know your schedule, and they aren't goin' to stop."

Zuko glowered at him, but at least he wasn't rolling his eyes anymore.

"What else can I do? I already called the police,"

Jet scrubbed a hand over his face. "What did they say?"

"That since they haven't harassed or verbally threatened me, there's nothing they can do," He leaned against a fancy end table with an even more elegant lamp on it.

"That's bullshit; they should do somethin',"

Zuko nodded, rubbing his eyes like a little kid. "I guess we have to wait until they break the stalker codes before they can really do something about it,"

"So we just sit here and wait for them to hurt you? Or the dogs? Or Giles?"

"I didn't write the damn rules, I just have to follow them," Zuko snapped back.

Jet squeezed his eyes shut and counted to thirty before opening them back up. He was still in the massive apartment, still in an unused kitchen, still standing across from a kid he used to take care of that had the audacity to grow up while he wasn't looking.

"You've gotta listen to me, alright? No matter what. I've dealt with this shit before, and you are  _ not _ gettin' hurt because some asshat thinks they can intimidate you,"

"When have you done this before?" he deflected quickly, anything to get the subject off his back.

"One of my sisters, Lucía. An ex-boyfriend from high school got too clingy, started following her home from school and callin' in the middle of the night to tell her that he still loved her and that they belonged together and all kinds of bullshit,"

"What happened?"

"The police did the same thing they're doing to you now; they blew us off. Then one day, he tried to get into the apartment, shoved Carla, kicked the dog. So when I got home, I beat him up," Jet shrugged.

It wasn't an amusing story, but there was the barest hint of a smile on Zuko's mouth. "How old were you?"

"Thirteen, why?"

"No reason. You've just been protecting people for your whole life; it seems, that's all,"

"Well," Jet mumbled, suddenly uncomfortable. It was his job to psychoanalyze everyone else, not for people to do it to him. "It was a good thing Itzair wasn't home; she would have taken a baseball bat to his knees, mobster style,"

"How many of you are there?"

"Three sisters, each has a husband and five kids."

Zuko frowned. "Last time there was only eighteen of you, not twenty-one,"

Jet grinned. "That was four years ago. Each sister had another baby. I now have fifteen nieces and nephews,"

"I don't even have fifteen relatives in the United States," he mused.

"Yeah, my sisters have taken it upon themselves to make sure that there will be no shortage of screamin' kids in the Bronx,"

They had careened off-topic, and they both knew it. It was reassuring in some way, that they could still click like this. In other ways, it was downright terrifying. Jet was naive to think that they could start fresh as nothing had happened before, that neither remembered.

But they both remembered, and it was all they could do to not talk about  _ it _ .

That night, the night he left, was an event that Jet fought hard not to think about. It was easier when he was overseas because there was minimal downtime; he was never really alone. He couldn't let himself spiral out of control when he thought too hard, or let himself get in his head about how that was the dumbest decision he had ever made in his life, and there was a lot to choose from.

But the past week, there was nothing but time and overthinking, and no schedule was an awful recipe to a lucid mind.

"Hey, got any rockets that we can launch off tomorrow?"

Zuko was looking down at his phone and snorted. "No, I have to work. Are you coming with me?"

Jet shrugged, trying to figure out what the abstract painting by the dining table was supposed to be.  _ A tipped over fish tank filled with spaghetti? A slithering, bloody tapeworm? _ After effectively grossing himself out, he looked away.

"I don't know. I was under the impression that I was staying full time with you,"

Zuko raised an eyebrow. "Full time? As in, you never go home?"

"Yes. I'll never leave you alone again. Even when you're on your honeymoon, I'll be in the background, sippin' a piña colada and makin' sure you don't get mugged," he rolled his eyes.

"Were you always this sarcastic?"

"Yep, just never said it out loud," He walked back to the living room, flopping down on a couch. Two happy dogs joined him, and forty seconds later, a curious Zuko.

"How come I don't remember any of this snark before?"

"Because back then, I could lose my job if I talked back or joked around with you. They can't fire me now, they begged me to come back. So if I give you some lip, they can't do nothin' about it. Unless I shove you out a window or something,"

"What did you plan on doing, if it wasn't a bodyguard?" Zuko asked after a few minutes had passed. He sat on the arm of an overstuffed, modern white chair, doing everything he could to NOT look at the exposed stripe of skin where Jet's shirt rode up on his stomach.

"I was gonna help my ma with the restaurant. I was gonna pretend that she  _ needed  _ help, I guess. She's been doin' it pretty much alone since I graduated from high school and went to basic trainin',"

"Why," he paused, and Jet cracked open an eye, looking him over and regretting it. There was an edge to him now, where he had once been water, now he was ice, tempered into something sharper and stronger.

It looked good on him.

"Why didn't you want to come back? To bodyguarding, I mean?"

He hadn't given Zuko an explanation; he hadn't even been the one that told him he wouldn't be back. He didn't even know  _ who  _ told him. The excuse he gave to the company was that he needed time to himself and with his family, a cushioned answer that would blowback on them if they demanded his return.  _ Who could get mad at a war veteran for needing time to heal? _ Actually, he didn't want an answer to that question.

Zuko was still looking at him, his eyes fired and piercing. He deserved an answer, the true answer.

"I was gone too long this time, kid. I thought I could handle it, but I guess I couldn't. So much is different, I'm not sure I can ever get used to being home again, I don't know if I can be the same person I was before I left, honestly. I don't even remember him,"

"And at this point, in the spirit of bein' candid, I can't trust myself to carry a gun anymore. So give me a taser or a pocket knife, but not a gun. I can't."

It had taken practice to maintain such a passive, unaffected look, but Zuko felt it chipping.

"So why did you come back? If that's the truth, why on earth would you agree to put yourself through this again?"

_ Ah shit. _ This wouldn't be a clear answer. Not clean and dry the way Zuko liked things.

"I don't have a good answer for you, kid. I really don't," He said instead.

"I'm not a kid anymore," Zuko interjected with a raised eyebrow.

_ I know, I've been tryin' to not notice all night, _ Jet grumbled to himself as he carried on,

"Is it money? Do you need money?"

"No, it's not about the money,"

"Insurance? Is this about insurance? Does this job even offer insurance?" the last question was directed more at himself, but he kept going.

"Not about insurance, it's fine,"

"Did you get bored?"

"No," Jet groaned, burying his face in Smellerbee's stomach. "Leave it alone, Zuko,"

"Then, why? Why did you come back?"

"Because I don't want you getting hurt, okay? I don't want you getting hurt when I could have done somethin' about it, when I could have stopped it," He burst out, Zuko's eyes widening.

"I tried saying no to that guy. I  _ wanted _ to say no. I've earned a quiet life, not to be putting myself where I can get hurt, but there was no way in hell I could leave you alone. I thought for sure that you wouldn't need me anymore, that you would have grown up, and I wouldn't have to do anythin' to keep you safe, to keep the monsters away. But these are a different kind of monsters I really hadn't seen coming, so I came back. My job is to keep you safe, and I can't, with a good conscience, let someone else do the job for me."

Zuko was still quiet, wide eyes trained on Jet, who had sat up during his rant.

"Not to mention that they only hire trigger happy dipshits who would rather be in their mom's basement playing  _ Call of Duty  _ or some dumb shit that over glorifies war,"

Jet laid back down on the carpet and let the dogs smush their furry, warm bodies against his face because even though he wasn't a fan of not being able to breathe, this was a small exception.

"Okay," Zuko said at last.

~0~

It was four in the morning when the call came. Jet was sprawled across the couch, Longshot being happily crushed in his armpit, Smellerbee had taken her protecting detail seriously and stayed with Zuko.

He didn't hear the first ring, but the second  _ bbbriiinnnggg  _ peeled open his bloodshot eyes.

Zuko's door opened, and his bare feet padded across the expensive hardwood, hand outstretched and ready to tap on Jet's shoulder.

He sat up quickly, Longshot scrambling out of the way as the man swung his legs over the back of the couch and stood next to Zuko.

He was disheveled from sleep, hair in every conceivable direction, and wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and a muscle shirt.

On the eighth ring, Jet nodded, and Zuko hit the accept button.

The silence stretched on, the only thing heard was deep, even breaths on the other side of the call.

Jet counted to twenty then leaned in close to the receiving end of the phone.

With every ounce of venom and spite he had in his body, he seethed, "Do not call this number again." with that, he hit 'end call'.

Zuko glanced up at him, eyebrow raised over a sleepy eye. "That was a bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

"You want to call him back and apologize?" He kept the sarcasm small, with as little bite as he could. Even though he was pretending not to care about this, Zuko's hands were shaking where he had folded them up tight against the black shirt.

"After you're done with work tomorrow, we're going to the cell phone store and buying you a new phone, new number, and everything,"

He nodded, eyes drifting across the room, his shaking hands tapping nervously against his biceps. "Do you really think we'll catch him?"

"Yes," he responded firmly, not letting a shred of doubt work its way into his mind.

"And if we don't?"

"Then..." Jet's mind raced, but he grinned when he caught hold of what to say. "Then, we go and see what Ontario is like this time of year."

Zuko snorted, shaking his head. Then the snort turned into a shy chuckle, then a full laugh. He brushed his still shaking through his hair and looked up at the bodyguard. He had grown a good six inches in the four years he had been gone, but Jet was still taller than him, just enough to see over his head.

"You would move to Canada with me,  _ Captain America? _ " he asked, amazed.

"Man, I fought in a war for people that hate me, what do you think I'd do for someone that I actually like?" He joked back, smile faltering as Zuko nodded and slowly moved closer. He butted his head into Jet's shoulder and just stood there, waiting

He hadn't gotten any better at hugs, but Jet still squeezed him anyway. There was more of him to hug now; hardened muscle stretched over his bones. His arms tentatively hugged him back. It took a minute, as Jet assumed it would, but Zuko melted. He burrowed his way deeper into the embrace, burying his face in Jet's neck.

Jet could think about how odd this was. How it was probably 'inappropriate conduct' or that a hug from a twenty-two-year-old was what he had been craving since the first night he had a nightmare probably meant that he was insane. He could get himself in trouble, or Zuko.

Or, he could just stand there. Let himself be hugged and squeeze someone back that had missed him for all the same reasons. Or, he could say fuck anyone who told him to let go, because, in the back of his mind, he knew this kid, that wasn't really a kid, was the reason he left and the reason he came back.

Zuko didn't say  _ 'I missed you' _ and he didn't tell him that he was scared and he didn't know what was going to happen anymore. He didn't have to. The way he crushed the bodyguard to him, fingers clutching at his Metallica shirt, so close to tears, it was a danger to even breath. That's what said it all, and it was the best way to convey emotion.


	9. A touch of Envy

A bedraggled Zuko sat cross-legged on the counter of his kitchen, staring into nothing as he sipped his coffee from a mug that had a math joke on it that Jet didn't understand. He had only left the kid alone for as long as it took him to shower and get dressed again. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but he had worn worse before.

As he was leaving the bathroom (which was marble and expensive but the water pressure was the most fantastic thing ever). He heard the groggy man speaking conversationally with the dogs that were sprawled out on the floor, having already eaten the most expensive dog food Jet had ever seen. Even if he was going to take the dogs back, he couldn't afford the lifestyle they had grown accustomed to.

He couldn't follow the conversation because it wasn't in English.

"Did you teach my dogs Japanese?" Jet leaned against the kitchen wall, arms crossed. Zuko was still in his pajamas and about three inches away from tumbling into the sink.

"And some Chinese," he replied, not moving his head from where it was resting against the cabinet. Morning light coming through the window streamed seraphically over his face and onto his hands.

"My dogs speak more languages than I do," he grumbled to himself, stepping over the dogs to get to the coffee. He poured it into a mug that had a flaming Pokemon on it and took a sip.

"This tastes like ass," he spluttered, blanching at the dark liquid.

Zuko's tired head leaned forward to look at him, molten eyes alert despite his fatigue. "It's three hundred dollars a pound for it,"

"Well, it still tastes like ass,"

Zuko snorted and leaned back against the walnut-colored cabinet. He watched Jet wander through the kitchen, digging in the fridge for milk and the cupboards for sugar.

"I taught them new tricks, want to see?"

All he had was almond milk, and the only sugar he found was hard as a rock. "Naturally," he replied, leaning against the kitchen island.

"Smellerbee," Zuko called out drowsily, the pitbull's nubbed ears swiveling to him. "Where's lamby?" he cooed out in Japanese, and she was up in a flash, scrambling her thick body out of the kitchen and into the hall where a massive basket of dog toys was kept. She sprinted back into the kitchen, the same ragged toy that Jet had sent with four years ago hung from her mouth. She trotted up to him and rammed her nose into this thigh, smearing her drool on his fatigues.

"You kept your lamb, that's such a sweet girl," he praised, leaving the horrible coffee on the table and smooched her on the head. Her tail wagged in delight.

"I had a harder time teaching Longshot Japanese; he likes Mandarin much better,"

"He's always been a picky boy," Jet added, smirking. Zuko ignored him the best he could while his ears turned pink and called out to the Yorkie/chihuahua. "Longshot, go get me my shoes,"

The Yorkie bounced across the apartment, and the other two waited. His proud little tail wagged as he dragged in one of Jet's massive boots across the floor, grumbling and growling with the effort.

Zuko sighed. "I asked for  _ my  _ shoes, but I guess that'll work."

"He listens about as well as you do," Jet chuckled, trying to repress the rest of his laughter. Longshot finished yanking it into the kitchen, underneath where Zuko was sitting and jumped up, trying to get his attention.

"You did good, I guess. Here," he tossed him a treat, then one to Smellerbee who waddled back to Jet, who still held the slimy ripped up lamb in his hand. Some of the holes had been hand-sewn back together, the thought and effort put into it heavily outweighed the lumpy outcome.

He didn't ask Zuko why he had sewn the nasty lamb shut when he could have just gone out and bought two hundred new ones for the dog. There are some things that you just can't throw away, even when they look as awful as that lamb.

~0~

The only jobs Jet had ever worked at was the restaurant, the marines, and the bodyguard company. The first job was surrounded by family and therefore bearable, the second was packed with too much action for him to be caught up in his own head for too long, and the third allowed him to meet rather interesting people, such as Zuko. But standing in an office building for nine hours a day was nothing short of torture. He had developed the ability to turn off his brain for hours at a crack, he needed to for surveillance that lasted twelve-hour shifts, but at least that had been important work. Not watching Zuko type and retype the same email seven different times, and then choosing the original draft.

"Jesus Christ, is it always like this here?" He complained after making his thirtieth rotation around the small office.

"Like what?" Zuko replied, not looking up from the computer where he was developing scoliosis.

"So boring that pulling out my teeth sounds like fun?"

Zuko snorted noncommittally. "Do you really think something bad is going to happen to me while I'm at work? You can go home, you know. I'll be fine until five-thirty."

"I know as soon as I'm gone, something bad will happen, that's how it always goes. Plus, I don't have my bike here so I can't leave,"

"You can take my car," He still hadn't looked up from the computer.

"You want me to take your Tesla to go run errands?"

'Why'd you say it like that?"

"Because that is an expensive ass car, and you want me to take it to the slums of the Bronx?"

"You're scared that my 'expensive ass car' is going to get jacked while you go grab a change of clothes in front of your mother's apartment?"

"Yes."

While they bantered, a janitor shouldered his way into the room, grabbing Zuko's trash. He hardly spared Jet a glance.

An arched eyebrow peeked over the top of his computer monitor as he glanced at the bodyguard. "Okay, then we'll go after I'm done with work."

"Remember that we have to go to the cell phone store to change your number,"

"I thought you were supposed to be my bodyguard, not my secretary,"

"Very funny,"

"I thought so," Zuko murmured.

~0~

For five solid minutes, Jet genuinely thought about quitting again and letting someone else take the job, pay raise be damned. It was damn near impossible to listen to the conversation that was happening right now between Zuko and the guy helping him change his number.

The employee was tall and blond and muscled in a way that was not practical for working in a cell phone store for christ's sake. He looked like a generic version of a Hemsworth brother, one that fried in the sun and bleached his teeth and hair. Zuko was failing to see the douchebaggery of the situation because he was not speaking back to him with his usual levels of aloof disinterest. The employee,  _ Todd _ , Jet noticed his name tag and gave it a scathing eye roll, was flirting heavily.

Jet was watching from a table that held all the newest models of cellphones, chin resting in his hand. Everything was clinically clean and polished, not a sense of personality or originality in the store. Chain stores were all the same, all sterile and devoid of character. Jet lazily fantasized about spray painting the walls to add something, anything to the plain white and orange.

_ Todd  _ laughed loudly at something Zuko said that wasn't even particularly that witty. He chose the opportunity to somehow flex his arms in a way that no one would notice he was doing on purpose, but Jet saw and suppressed a snort. Douchebag was standing too close to Zuko; his impractical bicep was touching Zuko, voice too low and smooth for retail, his eyes wandering too much. A snarl of rage clenched Jet's stomach as  _ Todd's  _ tanned hand reached out and touched Zuko's shoulder. It wasn't a companionable gesture but possessive, and Jet had stood up before he could stop himself, stool squeaking across the floor.

He had no right to be reacting the way he did; there was no reason that he should be opposed to Zuko flirting. If this were four years ago, after that one late-night talk they had when Zuko had told him that he wasn't exactly straight, he would be proud out of his mind that Zuko was flirting with a hot guy, in public, and with  _ finesse _ . But there was that tense anger that lived in his shoulders, and it screamed for everyone to give Zuko at least three feet of personal space. He could hardly convince himself that it was entirely for the kid's benefit.

As casually as he could, he walked up to the counter the two of them were at, doing his best to make it seem like he was bored out of his mind and not eavesdropping. And, of course, that he was already prepared to punch the employee in the face.

"And I still have all of my contacts from my old number, right?" Zuko's almond doe eyes looked up at  _ Todd _ . For as much of an asshole that the dude had to be, he didn't pay any attention to the burn.

Jet flipped through an iPhone manual with white knuckles. He was here to catch a stalker, not witness a twenty-two-year-old flirt shamelessly with someone from a Calvin Klein catalog.

"Yep, everything is the same as it was on your old phone, except, of course, I added my number in there," Jet glanced at him just in time to see him wink a sky blue eye at Zuko. "You know, just in case you have any questions,"

"Of course," Zuko replied barest hints of a smirk on his lips.  _ Todd  _ was looking at his lips with a hunger that enraged something in Jet. He then no so subtly let his eyes wander over Zuko's body, his voracious grin growing. Jet knew that look. This guy wasn't looking for a relationship or even a second date. He was there to take and take and take.

"Are you allowed to do that to someone's phone? Did he say that he wanted your number?" Jet snapped, and  _ Todd  _ looked at him for the first time since he laid eyes on Zuko.

"Zuko, do you know this guy?"  _ Todd  _ asked, lip curled as he surveyed Jet. "Is he like your dad or something?" instant defense.

Jet blanched. He was not old enough to be Zuko's dad unless he was getting busy at like, nine years old. That was just rude.

"Jet," Zuko said crisply, eyes flashing. "It's fine,"

"No, I think I should speak to the manager," he ignored Zuko.

"Dude, he said it was fine, leave it alone, it's not that big of a deal"  _ Todd  _ retorted, standing a bit taller with Zuko's endorsement behind him.

"Did you just call me  _ dude _ ?" Jet narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, I did. What are you gonna do about it?" He shot back, eyes shrewd

"Please don't fight someone in a cell phone store," Zuko growled at Jet, who gave him a winning smile.

"There isn't goin' to be a fight," he reassured, sweetly. Zuko growled.

"You are completely right; there isn't going to be a fight. I paid for my services, so we are going home,"

Jet still hadn't moved, eyes locked on  _ Todd _ . He wondered how many other customers there had been, how many notches in his belt that were no more than twenty years old, how many he never saw again.

"Did you hear me? We're going home, right now. Get in the car," Zuko stepped in front of Jet and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. "Get in the car," he growled. Jet took great satisfaction when  _ Todd  _ understood that they lived together. He blew the red-faced employee a kiss before walking out of the store behind a fuming Zuko.

Zuko slammed the passenger's door with more force than was necessary and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring out the windshield.

"Are you going to do this from now on?" He barked after Jet had calmly buckled up. He was feeling wonderfully smug until he realized that his actions would have consequences. He cringed.

"Do what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Zuko said sarcastically, "blow up at every guy that tries to talk to me?"

"Zuko, he was a creep, how could you not see that?"

"That's not the point. I'm not a little kid anymore, Jet, I'm old enough to make my own mistakes, even when those mistakes have names,"

"Names like  _ Todd _ , who was a total douchebag, by the way. You should have seen the way he was lookin' at you,"

Zuko scoffed loudly. "Maybe I liked the way he was looking at me, ever think of that?"

"Like he's a fox, and you're an unsuspecting hen that wandered too far from the coop?"

"Jesus, that analogy sucked," he grunted, giving Jet the side-eye from his burnt eye. Jet always felt like that eye could see him better, always harsher.

"You think I don't know you're not a little kid anymore, Zuko? Everyone else is noticin' too. I'm your bodyguard; this is my job. I'm here to punch douchebags in the face and protect you, even when you don't want me to." This wasn't even the first lie he had told today.

"And look at you, flirtin' like a seasoned pro, which I think I have to congratulate you on, by the way," He chewed the phrase through his teeth, his attempt at mending what he had no doubt agitated was like trying to fix a crack in the drywall with a stick of glue and crossed fingers. He didn't want to congratulate him, he never wanted him to do it again, but that wasn't his call to make.

In the passenger seat, Zuko's face was dusted pink from either embarrassment or anger; Jet couldn't tell the difference.

"When I signed on for this job, I didn't think I would have to beat the guys off of you with a stick," He attempted to joke, hoping his emotion-fueled outburst in that hellacious store hadn't been an offendable act.

Zuko's head had fallen into his hands sometime during that sentence, and he grumbled unintelligibly into them.

"What?"

"I said I'm never going to get a date with you around scaring everyone off,"

"Well too bad, because I'm not going anywhere any time soon,"

He faked the nonchalance of the tail end of the conversation. He wished that he wasn't viciously happy at the thought of Zuko never going on a date again. He wished he didn't care who he dated or didn't date, what he did or didn't do. He wished he didn't care, only enough to keep him safe. But something was changing, or maybe something was there all along was reawakening from a four-year slumber. He could wish on every star in the solar system that he wasn't jealous of  _ Todd  _ and the easy way he flirted with Zuko, or that his Zuko flirted back with the stranger. A stranger that didn't even know how he liked to take his tea.

He could wish, that he could do. Or, he could start on the long journey of healthily accepting and processing his feelings.

Dear god, both options sounded horrible.


	10. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR HOMOPHOBIA AND SLURS!!!   
> You were warned.

Four years had come and passed since the last time he had stepped foot in a bar with the intent of drinking. He had been avoiding alcohol like a lousy haircut since he had come home. He had seen too many good men fall victim to the bottle or the needle to make him even want to pick up a glass.

Friends from the marines had called him up and invited him to a bar after work, and he had no other excuse not to go other than he simply didn't want to.

So he found himself in an unreasonably loud room that reeked off sour beer and cleaning supplies. He didn't want a beer thrust into his hand; he wanted his own bed and the promise of dreamless sleep.

For hours, Jet, Jim, Monty, Joseph, and Warren sat at that stinking bar and shared stories. None of the tales were particularly incredible; all were embellished and containing far more cussing than was necessary. It was nice to catch up with friends, but not when sleep was calling like it was. 

"Do you remember that time," Jim hiccuped, four beers and three rounds of tequila in, they were all standing firmly in the belly of the beast. "That time that Juarez made out with that tranny hooker before we went to basic trainin'?"

"What does that have to do with anythin'?" Jet spluttered on his beer. 

"My God, that was hilarious," Jim joked, and the rest of them roared loud enough to have the people at the bar across the room glance at them.

"We should have warned you that you were making out with a faggot, but it was just too god damn funny at the time," Warren barked out a laugh.

The word bit Jet with teeth he had never felt before. He felt himself flinch before he could still himself. It wasn't a direct attack; it was used too flippantly, without thought. It pulled at the loose threads of Jet's already worn patience. 

"Why are you bringing that up?" Jet deflected, throwing sharp glances at his friends. 

"Because we're worried 'bout you, Jet. We wanna see you happy," Monty replied, sucking back the rest of his shot in record time.

"And reminding me of that night will do that, how?"

"Well, you never told us if you brought him home or not," Monty grinned, a bit too feral to be joking.

"Don't try and tell me," Warren grunted, pointer finger shaking at him, "That finding you a good lay doesn't make you feel better. Guy or not,"

Though tequila was making the lights a bit fuzzier and his laughter louder than he could control, he was still well enough aware to tell that this was no longer funny.

"Is this all you think about? Sex?" He snapped back, the alcohol making his words sharper than sober Jet would have used to diffuse the situation.

"What?  _ Did you _ bring him back to your place?" he bit back, eyes wide.

"No, I did not," His lip curled up and over his teeth. His hackles raised, and he was panicking at the thought of them finding out why. No one else had been in that garage the night before he had left four years ago, but the wild fear that someone knew ate him.

"Boys," Joseph interjected, gently patting both of their hands "This is a night for fun and catching up, not fighting. Warren, no one wants to listen to you be a bastard, and Jet, just because you won't tell us that you fucked a faggot doesn't mean we still don't love you," He kept the tone light, and it worked. Warren grumbled and plopped back down in his chair.

Jet felt his shoulders hit the back of his chair as he looked at his friends for who they were for the first time in a decade. He didn't remember them being so old and fallible. When they were young, the five of them were gods of the Bronx, and nothing could stop them. They were going to fight in a war, and they were going to make a difference; they were going to chase tail all around the world, and no one was ever going to beat them.

Now, they were old. Jet was the youngest in the group by only a year, and he  _ hoped to god  _ he didn't look like them. Their faces were lined with nightmares, and their bravado was an act that was all too easy to see through when you know what you're looking for. Three were married, all failing marriages. PTSD was a cruel mistress. Jet couldn't judge their experiences, but he could judge their coping methods.

He slammed the last tequila shot; he didn't know how many this made. Ten? Thirteen? It didn't matter.

"I can't believe I took off work for this," He mumbled loudly, rising from the table.

"Hey, where are you going?" Monty called out.

"To find better friends," He said over his shoulder, making his way to the door.

They called back, hollow apologies and tried to get him to come back to the table, but it didn't work. He was shaking now; it wasn't stopping. He needed to leave the bar.

Thank god for taxis. 

~0~

"Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?"

"SHHH," Jet hissed, swatting his hand in the general vicinity of Zuko.

"Does your head hurt?"

"Your voice hurts," he grunted, wobbling to the counter and scrabbling at the coffee pot. "Light hurts, breathing hurts, thinking is like being shot in the head with a nail gun."

Zuko crossed his arms; an amused eyebrow arched as he watched the bodyguard rest his face against the countertop and let out a hollow bellow, cursing the universe in mumbled Spanish.

"What doesn't hurt?"

"Coffee."

Sliding up onto the counter next to him, Zuko sipped his tea, wrinkling his nose at the smell. "What did you drink last night? Battery acid?"

"Worse. Tequila. A gallon of it."

"Why the hell did you think that was a good idea?" he asked. Though Jet's face was half smushed against the marble countertop, he still managed to smirk up at him.

"Because I am a competitive creature. You should know this. My friends challenged me to a drinking game, and I thought I could do it like I used to. Oh god, I was wrong. I was so, deeply wrong"

"I have no pity for you," Zuko mused. He wasn't a fan of drinking. Too much room for bad decisions and he made enough of those sober.

"Don't have pity on me. I'm a coward," he whispered to the marble under his face. Shame gnawed at the pit of his stomach, angry and awake. He felt the burning need not only to throw up, but to apologize to Zuko. Though he hadn't done anything wrong, per se, it ached in his gut all the same. He wondered how many times casual slurs left his lips like they had with his friends last night, lips that had kissed the person in front of him.

"How are you going to drive? You can't even stand up straight," Zuko prodded his shoulder with a finger. He was enjoying this too much.

"Zuko," He started, not knowing how to continue the sentence. With a boiling hot hand, he ripped off his sunglasses to look at him. The thought of removing his face from this incredibly pleasant marble was nauseating, so he stayed put, looking up at him. Zuko was a lot closer than Jet realized, one of his knees drawn to his chin, not six inches away.

"Yes?" Eyes blinking, not a clue of how guilty Jet felt. He was so innocent at the moment that it hurt. Or maybe it was the tequila.

"I'm sorry I'm such an idiot," he said meekly, a weak smile spreading across his face. He didn't have the courage to explain  _ why _ he was an idiot, but he was sure Zuko had a file box of his own reasons.

"Oh, Jet," Zuko smiled, his hand coming down and gently patting Jet's head like he would console a dog. "Good thing you have me, right?" he poked fun.

"Yeah," he grunted, Zuko's fingers drifted through his hair one more time before he collected it back to his lap and drank his tea. "Good thing I have you."

_ Good thing I have you. _


	11. Mole for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that mole (the food) and soul don't rhyme.

The first time around, when Jet had been initially hired to be a bodyguard for the Agni family, it had taken Zuko three weeks to acknowledge him, two months to learn his name and six more months to strike up a conversation.

This time around, it took Zuko three days to give Jet a keycard to the front door and the password to everything in the house.

Jet never had to use any of it; he was always with Zuko every time they came to the house, and every time they left. Today was his first adventure through the confusing parking garage alone, let alone trying to use his identity badge to get up the elevator to the correct floor.

The both of them agreed it was better if it was just Jet now, Giles got reassigned to a case that would let him go home to his girl every night. Both of them would have objected if they had been stuck with other people full time, but they never considered fighting it, not a thought crossed either mind.

Jet bustled through the apartment door; lanyard tossed onto the cabinet in the foyer. He was loaded with bags, three times as many as he had wanted to take, but his mom had interrupted his packing.

"Zuko," he called out into the house, violently kicking off his tennis shoes, stopping his trek to the kitchen long enough to greet the swarm of dogs that ambushed him.

"I accidentally told mamá that you only eat instant noodles," he smirked. It wasn't an accident. "So she packed me enough mole and taco fixings for a small army," he unloaded the three grocery bags stuffed far past their carrying capacity onto the counter. "She told me that you need to come back to the restaurant as soon as possible. It's been too long,"

It wasn't hard finding space for everything he brought in the refrigerator; it had a carton of eggs that held three, a pint of soy milk and half a cabbage. Zuko didn't even like cabbage.

When he still got no response, he ventured into the living room. It was too modern for him, but he  _ absolutely  _ did not mind it having an eighty-six-inch television. Zuko's chair was empty, but the couch opposite was not.

He was met with wide blue eyes and a mane of snow-white hair.

"Who are you?" Jet snapped, hand reflexively going to his hip, that was empty. "How'd you get in the house?"

"I'm a friend of Zuko, you must be Jet," the person said, voice soft.

"Where is he?"  _ Why don't I have a gun? _ He yelled at himself.

Across the house, he heard the bathroom door open.

"I'm right here," Jet took his eyes off the person on the couch for a second, thoroughly scanning Zuko. He was in a giant sweatshirt and looked perfectly fine, though his eyebrow was impressively high.

"I was in the bathroom," he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the bathroom door.

"Do you know who this is?"

"Yeah, this is my friend, Yue,"

Yue waved a henna decorated hand at him. "Sorry to give you such a scare like that," they offered, a Manchester accent awake in their mouth.

Forcing himself to relax, Jet grinned. "You can never be too careful, this one," he shrugged a shoulder at Zuko, "wouldn't have even noticed if it was a total stranger on the couch,"

Zuko gave him a contemptuous look. "I'm not a complete idiot; I would have noticed. I let Yue  _ into  _ the apartment, you know. They didn't sneak through the window,"

"Of course you did, darlin'. Food's on the table," He spoke through his smile.

Blustering passed him to get to the couch, hiding his nails that he brought to his mouth to gnaw on. It was a despicable habit, so Yue swatted Zuko's hand away from his mouth.

They were enjoying this exchange considerably. Zuko had told them about Jet, but they had never got to meet him until now.

"Does your mother work at a restaurant?" Yue asked politely, unfolding their long brown limbs from the couch, sauntering across the living room.

Jet had begrudgingly concluded that it didn't matter to him if he couldn't figure out the gender of everyone, so he tried his best not to be obvious. Yue was beautiful in the most contemporary way; their face wouldn't look out of place on a billboard promoting makeup that Jet's sisters would only talk about buying.

"She owns one, down in the Bronx,"

"Oh, that's amazing," They responded, leaning against the counter while Jet started making food.

"Yeah, it's called ' _ Bendiciones _ .' It's a great place; you'll have to stop by some time. I'm sure mama would just love you,"

"You are too sweet. I will check it out before I fly home. I'm sure I could get Zuko to come with me,"

Too curious for his good, Zuko padded across the living room and into the kitchen. Longshot made no complaint as he was scooped up and cradled in Zuko's arms as he climbed up on the counter, making himself as small as possible.

Jet absently thought about clearing a spot off of the top of the refrigerator for him to curl up in like the cat he was.

Yue, the epitome of charm and politeness, started chopping food with Jet, making small talk all the while.

"How long have you been working security?"

"Five years?" He said, knowing that it was phrased like a question. "I think five years, in total. Took a four-year military leave," he assumed that Zuko had already discussed this with his friend, but Yue didn't interrupt him. "Came back a few weeks ago, got the call I needed to come back, so here I am,"

"So, you're here because of the stalker?" They asked blatantly, scooping onions and into the skillet.

Zuko scoffed but didn't add anything else to the conversation. He was still having a hard time admitting there was a problem.

"Yeah, you know about that?"

"I am the one that dragged him to the police in the first place," Yue shared a look to their friend that Jet couldn't quite put a name to, but  _ definitely  _ understood. It was caught somewhere between anger, the fierce need to protect him, and baffled kinship.

"Thank you for doing that," Jet said, trying not to stumble too hard on his words. "I wasn't there to kick 'em in the pants, so thank you for doin' it for me,"

A genuine, dazzling smile lit up their face. "We do everything we can for the ones we love, don't we?"

Jet wasn't sure how someone could physically stutter, but he did as nodded at Yue. It took him three times to open the seasoning jar he was holding. 

_ God help me; he _ silently prayed.

~0~

Judging how uncomfortable the dining room chairs were, it was safe to say that the dining room had never been used. Zuko and Jet were more than content with the idea of eating in the living room like always, but Yue requested a 'proper' dinner, calling them some British slang that Jet didn't know if he should be offended at.

His left knee had sprouted a head, Smellerbee's sweet brown eyes blinking up at him, ready to catch anything that happened to fall from his taco.

He mumbled at her in Spanish before giving in and her a chunk of meat.

Zuko clucked disapprovingly. "Don't give her that, it upsets her stomach,"

"She's eaten her fair share of tacos," Jet defended

"Yeah, that was four years ago. She's on a strict diet now," Zuko ignored the way Longshot was dancing around his chair. He folded the chihuahua-Yorkie into his lap, keeping him far away from the tacos.

"One little chunk of taco meat isn't going to kill her,"

"Well, I am not taking her outside at one in the morning when she gets diarrhea,"

Jet gave the pitbull a loud kiss on the forehead. "She is a Juarez; she can handle her tacos,"

"Juarez-Agni," Yue said quietly like they always did like they were always speaking in a library.

"What?" Zuko asked, breaking the severe eye contact he and Jet had been locked in for the whole exchange.

"Juarez-Agni. You should hyphenate like the good sort of parents," They grinned to themselves and took a bite of mole, already bombarded with indignant noises.

"If I'm hyphenating,  _ strong if _ , it's going to be Agni-Juarez," Zuko grunted.

"They were my dogs first; it should be Juarez-Agni if I even  _ do  _ consider tackin' on your last name," Jet snapped back.

"Now, now," Yue disrupted Zuko as he opened his mouth to fight back. "Don't argue in front of the kids," they pointed down at the pitbull that was drooling pathetically all over the floor that was more expensive than Jet's life insurance policy. Longshot was trying with all his might to get the taco off his plate, little eyes bugging out of his head as he struggled. 

While Zuko was distracted, he got his teeth around the taco.

He took off like a shot, off his lap, and across the house in two seconds.

Jet roared with laughter as Zuko scrambled after him.

"NO!" he squawked, trying to shove his body under the couch after the dog.

Jet kept laughing while Yue took a dozen photos on their phone of Zuko halfway under a couch, trying to wrestle a taco from a seven-pound, growling, dog's mouth. Jet didn't stop laughing when he had to drag Zuko out by his ankles because his shoulders were wedged too tight, nor when he picked a dust bunny out of a disgruntled Zuko's hair.

"I blame your cooking," Zuko poked him in the chest, stomping into the kitchen to wash the meat and dog spit off his hands.

"As do I. I'm a damn good chef; my tacos can seduce a telephone pole," he bragged.

"Yes, you are; it was an amazing meal," Yue jumped in emphatically.

Zuko mocked them in a high pitched voice as he scrubbed a chile powder stain from his sleeve.

~0~

Yue was the only friend of Zuko's that Jet ever met, and he was happy they had been introduced. They were a perfect counterbalance to Zuko. Calming him down, bringing up to life, everything the emotionally stunted twenty-two-year-old needed.

"All this money, and you don't even have a spare bedroom," Jet teased as he got the couch ready for him to sleep on. Zuko tossed a throw pillow at him from across the room. Yue had a day with their family tomorrow and left before midnight.

"Do  _ you _ have a spare room in your apartment?"

"No, I shared a fifteen by ten room with three sisters, and whichever cousin was spendin' the night, our room  _ was _ the spare room,"

Zuko raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything.

"And I've gotta say, in the week I've slept here, I think I prefer someone snoring in my ear and cold feet on my back then nothin' but ticking clocks,"

Zuko paused his movements of nervously cleaning up the messes Jet tended to make and looked at him. It was a scouring look. Jet felt a little scrubbed by it. He couldn't tell what he was trying to scrape through and find, or what could be in him that was worth digging for.

"But that's what little taco thieves are for, right?" He pointed to the dog already taking up residency on the made-up couch.

"Yeah,"

Jet wasn't sure what he had just confessed to, that he missed sleeping next to someone or that he really wouldn't mind the company that was standing next to him, and it wasn't just the dog.

"Well, goodnight," Zuko said quickly, almost running to his room, the door clicking shut.

" _ Fuck," _ Jet said to himself. He hadn't meant to scare the kid off; he hadn't even comprehended the double meaning behind the words until after they had vacated his mouth. It hadn't been an invitation, just an observation.

But what if it  _ had  _ been an invitation, subconsciously? What would he have done if Zuko had taken it seriously and called the company about sexual harassment? Or worse, grabbed a blanket and curled up next to him?

Though the latter made him panic, it wasn't nearly as much as he thought it would have been. Zuko was a nice arm full, and part of him wondered if holding onto someone would curb the nightmares for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a few days out because I had already written this fic a while ago and I'm tailoring my original characters into Jet and Zuko. I have a cute chapter idea that will only work in the next chapter, but it wasn't one that I've already written, so it'll be a few days until I can finish writing it.  
> Then it will go back to having a shit ton of chapters posted because I'm editing them as fast as I can, then I'll have to make up the rest of them from scratch.  
> Bleh, writing. Why couldn't I have latched on to a less agonizing hobby? Oh well.


	12. Blue Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! I gotta say a few things.  
> Canonically, Zuko knows how to kick some serious ass, between his swords, hand to hand combat, and bending. So I used this chapter to emphasize how much of a baddy our hero is.  
> Northern Shaolin Kung fu is a real thing, they based the style of Fire bending after, but I have no idea if they use swords in it. No clue. That was as far as my googling went. But I'm pretty sure you guys didn't come here for accurate depictions of Kung fu, so if you really have a problem with it, lemme know.  
> I also totally made up the origin story for the Blue Spirit, loosely and I mean LOOSELY based off of what Zuko did when he was on the run as the Blue Spirit.

"Oral fixation,"

"Excuse me?" Jet turned his head, watching as Zuko scribbled something down on a piece of paper.

"Oral fixation. The toothpick," he didn't even look up from the table full of papers. Ever since the dinner with Yue, the dining table was used for pretty much everything.

"What about the toothpick?" Jet chomped down on the wooden pick, nervously grinding it between his teeth. He felt itchy.

"A few years ago, it was cinnamon gum, and now it's a toothpick. How long has it been since your last cigarette?"

Jet huffed loudly.

"Since I got back. Three weeks."

Zuko grunted, squinted at his computer before writing down whatever he saw.

"What does that mean? The fixation thing?"

"It means that you need something in your mouth to distract you from the fact that you want to smoke more than anything,"

"It was easier to quit the first time," he sighed, standing up to throw the toothpick away.

"I'd say I wouldn't mind, but I really do. You're not ruining your lungs while I watch,"

Jet was about to make a comment about Zuko sounding like his mother when Zuko's smartwatch started beeping, his phone going off at the same time.

Zuko barely shut the computer before he flew out of his chair, sailing over the sleeping dogs at their feet to his bedroom.

Jet stared after him.

"Are we goin' somewhere today?" He yelled out.

Zuko reappeared in an instant, wearing basketball shorts and a work out shirt.

"Uhh, yeah, actually,"

Jet threw back the rest of his coffee before standing up.

"Where to?" He needed to get out of this apartment. He thought that living with someone that was a prime partying age would yield more exciting events. Thus far, nothing.

"I started taking kung fu lessons a few years ago, and Master Piandao just came back from Japan last week, I haven't had a lesson with him in a few weeks,"

"Kung fu?" Jet raised an eyebrow, already gnawing on another toothpick. "That's a little on the nose, don't you think?"

"My uncle went to school in Northern Shaolin, and he learned Kung Fu from the masters when he was my age. My dad didn't have the patience for it, but Uncle said it would be good for me. He introduced me to Piandao and Master Jeong Jeong, and I guess he was right. It was good for me," Zuko shrugged.

"Are you any good?" Jet asked, grinning when Zuko rolled his eyes.

"I think I could best you in a fight, yeah,"

"Oh? You really think so?"

Zuko breezed past him, reaching for his coat by the door.

"Yes."

Jet matched him step for step, grinning wolfishly down at Zuko, even though they were almost eye level now.

"I think I might take you up on that challenge,"

~0~

Chinatown was two square miles of condensed culture, one hundred and fifty years old and  _ crowded. _ Jet was born and bred New Yorker, he knew crowds, but it had been a very long time since a group of people had choked him, people that really didn't care about him at all.

The kung-fu studio was a small, beautiful, smooth white building with bamboo growing out front and a red and a blue dragon circling each other on the door. The closer they walked to the building, the more relaxed Zuko became. His shoulders squared, chin up and eyes sparkling. The grin that spread across his immaculate teeth was wider than Jet had ever seen as he greeted the girl that sat behind the desk.

"It's good to see you back, Zuko," she smiled back. "I'll let the masters know you're here, and I'm pretty sure that your delightful uncle is already in the back,"

"Thank you, Katara,"

She was the kind of beautiful that Jet had been chasing his whole life. She practically radiated calm and healing, but the spark in her ocean eyes told Jet that she was more than he could handle in his current state of mind.

Zuko led the way through a hall and whispered to Jet, "Don't get any ideas about her, she's dating a monk, and her brother is a graduate swordsman, not to mention, she is the only person besides the masters that have successfully knocked me on my ass in two years,"

"Good to know," Jet whispered back.

The training room was huge and straightforward, with no mats on the cool gray floor, Chinese words hanging off the walls on banners. Three men sat at a low table, sipping strong smelling tea.

"Nephew!" Cried out one of the men, a rotund elderly man that got to his feet with surprising agility. He was on them in a second, crushing Zuko to his chest in a hug.

The tips of Zuko's ears turned pink, but he hugged his uncle back anyhow. 

"Jet, it is so very nice to see you again, I knew you'd come back when you heard of the trouble my nephew got himself into," Iroh offered him a polite handshake instead of tackling him into a hug like Jet assumed he wanted.

"It's hard to say no to this one," Jet smiled back. "He's so agreeable," he smirked at Zuko, who glared back.

"HA!" Uncle barked out a laugh, clapping Zuko on the back. "He gets it,"

Zuko grumbled something and turned his attention to the other men that rose to their feet.

"I knew you'd waste no time in getting here when I had Katara summon you," the taller of the men said, squinting mischievously at Zuko. He was a severe-looking man; graying black hair pulled behind his head, smart goatee trimmed to perfection.

"Master Piandao," Zuko murmured, bowing low to the elder. 

"It's been a month, pupil, have you forgotten everything I've taught you?"

"No, Master," Zuko shook his head, his smile grew when Piandao pursed his lips.

"Prove it."

~0~

"It took me almost a decade to learn what he's already mastered," Iroh mused, nursing his tea. The tea was delicious; Jet's cup was still warm in his hands. For an hour and a half, Zuko tirelessly trained with the masters, never once did he stop moving or waver.

"I went to Masters Ran and Shaw when I was seventeen years old, and I didn't leave that Shaolin temple until I was twenty-three, and that was only because my mother was dying," he watched his nephew with soft eyes. "I went back the day after we buried her and I didn't leave for four more years,"

"Wow," Jet breathed. 

"He mentioned years ago that you were going to train him how to fight," Iroh raised a gray eyebrow.

"I was going to teach him how to defend himself. There's a difference,"

Iroh chuckled. "My nephew has needed defending his whole life. I'm happy he's learned how to fight back,"

"Me too."

Master Jeong Jeong was terrifying. He never acknowledged Zuko when he had bowed to the master; he only yelled out sharp words in Japanese occasionally, correcting Zuko.

Zuko, who took orders from others like the sky takes commands from the ground, heeded the man's word like it was law. He had shed all of his clothes, but his shorts, bare feet planted firmly in the gray floor, shining torso twisting with his movement. Four years of tutelage under the masters had worn away every trace of his previous life, leaving corded muscle under sweat glistened skin. He didn't move fluidly like water; his rhythm was too quick, too unpredictable. He danced like a flame under the attack of Piandao, his body coiled tight like he was the weapon.

Jet took a long drink of his tea.

Something dark blue and the size of Jet's stretched out hand was marked on Zuko's back, between his shoulder blades.

Several long moments passed while Jet worked up the words to ask, and Iroh must have noticed.

"Ask Jet; the tea will sour while you worry drinking it,"

"I didn't know he had a tattoo," Jet confessed after gnawing on his finger for a few seconds.

"Ah,"

"And don't get me wrong, it looks great, well, what I can see from here, but,"

Iroh looked amused as he glanced at Jet.

"It looks traditional,"

"It is. It took Lo and Li eighteen hours straight to finish it. I wouldn't trust those old crones to touch me with needles for anything," he wrinkled his nose.

"Is it a yakuza tattoo? Did he join a gang while I was gone?" Jet blurted, catching Iroh by surprise. The older man's eyes widened comically.

"Is Zuko a yakuza?" Iroh managed to say before he started to howl with laughter, throwing his head back and clutching his stomach.

Zuko glanced at his uncle with a frown, shaggy hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.

Jet had to look away, between the way the ceiling lights loved Zuko and the uncontrolled hilarity rolling off of Iroh in waves, he was feeling a little twitchy.

"No, Jet," Iroh wheezed out, flicking away a tear. "Zuko did not join the yakuza while you were away. I don't even think he knows that the yakuza exist outside of Hollywood,"

"Okay," Jet sighed, sinking back against the low table.

"Aren't you going to ask what it is?"

"Hm?" Jet managed to pull his eyes away from the way Zuko seemed to dance with the sword and glanced at Iroh.

"The tattoo, don't you want to know what it is?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess. I was just going to tease him about it later," Jet conceded.

"It's the Blue Spirit. A masked spirit who stole from the rich and gave to the poor and protected the village in times of war. Zuko always loved it when my son would tell him that story. He and Lu Ten would sit for hours under the cherry trees and tell stories," His eyes that always seemed to shine with mischief and wisdom, seemed to dampen. "It was much simpler when we lived in Japan."

"Why did you leave, if you don't mind me askin'?" Jet took the pause to fill Iroh's cup. The man managed a smile, but it wasn't a very happy one.

"In short?"

Jet nodded.

"My son died, and I couldn't handle it. I was next in line to inherit my father's business, but Ozai convinced him that I was unfit to lead. Azulon agreed, and I was in no position to argue. Ozai got the company, Zuko had his accident, and Azulon died. It was time to leave. The trees would blossom without us."

Jet's head spun with questions; he didn't know what to ask first. Iroh beat him to it.

"Did he tell you the story of how he got his scar?"

"No,"

"Ah. Would you like to know?"

"Of course, but is it something he'd want me to know?"

"He trusts you the most, Jet. He's been scared for most of his life, and you make him safe. The only reason he hasn't told you is that he knows you wouldn't like him better without it,"

"He told you that?" Jet's jaw dropped and refused to listen.

"I am his uncle," Iroh shrugged half his shoulder. "He tells me everything."

Jet clamped down hard on his tongue to avoid asking what else Zuko said about him.

"I will keep it short for you again. If Zuko decides to tell you someday, he can give them to you."

Jet nodded, suddenly nervous. Of course, he had wanted to ask, he had looked at the burn every day for almost two years, and then for three weeks straight now that he was living full time with the kid. But it became unimportant, the longer he knew him. He was just Zuko now; the scar didn't define him; it was a part of him, just like the way he had an affinity for donuts and his deep-seated hatred for country music.

"Ozai was a ruthless leader from the moment he inherited the business when Azulon died. People lost their jobs, partnering companies got cut off and cheated; it was chaos. Someone who lost money in the power struggle thought they could ransom money off of Zuko. Surely his only son and child would be their ticket to get what they wanted. What father wouldn't tear down their empire for their child?"

Jet's stomach didn't feel so good. He hadn't liked Ozai the moment he had met him, but this was different from a power-hungry tycoon stepping on toes to get to the top. 

"Ozai didn't give them what they wanted, and Zuko almost lost his eye," Iroh sipped his ginger tea, hands calm but eyes burning.

"How old was he?"

"Thirteen."

" _ Madre de Dios _ ," Jet hissed.

A four-year-old conversation floated into Jet's mind, and his stomach fell out of his body.

_ "Are you kidnapping me, Mr. Juarez?" _

Oh god.

_ "Have you plotted my kidnapping before?" _

_ "Should I have?" _

_ "Well, what if I get kidnapped in the future, but you wouldn't know how to find me because you never planned out how to do it? You wouldn't know what path my abductors took," _

How would the kid have known this if it hadn't happened before?

Jet swallowed hard.

"How long did they have him?"

"Fifteen hours and forty-seven minutes," Iroh answered with no hesitation.

_ "My father is a rich man with many enemies; it could very well happen." _

Jet scrubbed his hand over his face and exhaled. "God, how didn't I put that together before? It's been there the whole time."

"Zuko is very good at hiding things he doesn't want others to know. I didn't even know he got that tattoo until he came to training one day and I happened to be here,"

"It would explain the nightmares,"

Iroh nodded. "He wouldn't let go of his mother for weeks after. She was so destroyed by the guilt that she practically abandoned him."

Jet looked back to the still fighting Zuko, his pale chest heaving as he swung the katana at Piandao, feet hardly touching the ground before he was leaping away, feet silent on the floor. 

"He is truly amazing, isn't he?" Iroh looked at his nephew, pride shining through his crinkled eyes. "All of this, and his hold on the sword never dips, his feet never miss their mark,"

Jet nodded, gnawing on his thumb. God, he needed a cigarette.

Zuko didn't need pity, and Jet had no sympathy to give him. But a hug wasn't pitying, and his mother's voice in his head told him that a hug is what everyone deserves all the time. It wouldn't fix it, it wouldn't erase it, but it was all Jet had to give.

But, he resigned himself to the fact that neither Zuko nor the masters would appreciate Jet tackling Zuko down to the floor and suffocating him in a patent-pending Juarez hug.

~0~

Zuko melted into the car seat the second he sat on it. He smelled like the soap from the studio, hair spiky, and drying from his shower. Tipping his head back against the sleek white seats, he sighed.

It was an indecent noise, and not Jet's fault at all that it made his mouth instantly and insatiably dry.

It was a miracle that Jet could keep his eyes on the road; the long, exposed column of Zuko's throat was downright dangerous.

Zuko must have sensed the gaze that kept flicking to him because he finally grunted.

"What?"

Jet twisted his lips, desperately searching for a reason to see the blush on his cheeks and know that he caused it.

"I like your tattoo," he said, dropping his voice just enough to get his point across.

Like magic, pink flooded Zuko's face, his eyes popping open.

Jet looked back to the road, a little too proud of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long, it was supposed to be like, a day-long sabbatical. Migraines and just generalized life is a total bitch.  
> AND! because I literally have NOTHING better to do, there will be more. and more.


	13. Nightmares

Jet didn't know what woke him first, the crash from Zuko's room or the yelling.

He sailed over the couch; poor Longshot getting flung somewhere in the struggle. Bare feet pounding into the hardwood, he sprinted down the hallway.

Zuko was in his bed, lamp on the floor, shade askew. As his eyes frantically swept the room, Jet saw that the room was empty.

Zuko thrashed on the bed, limbs flailing and face twisted in horror at whatever he was dreaming about.

Iroh's words from earlier in the week stabbed at his heart. They weren't just faceless assailants in his dream; they were real people who hurt him. Burned him.

Smellerbee stood at the end of the bed, hackles raised as she watched him wrestle with himself. She whined softly at Jet, who didn't know what to do.

" _ GET OFF OF ME _ ," Zuko snarled, his head narrowly missing the wall as he careened backward.

His Abuela had told him never to wake anyone who was dreaming or sleepwalking because their soul might get lost on the other side, and for two solid seconds, he was just scared enough to believe it.

" _ Jet, get them off me _ ," He snapped, eyes scrunched shut, dreaming. That was all it took for Jet to take hold of his shoulders and try to wake him up. He was neglecting his duty as a bodyguard. He was calling him out by name, to come and help him.

"Zuko, wake up," Jet said firmly, ducking his head under the fist Zuko threw at him. 'It's a dream, kid. Wake up; you're safe, hey, wake up," The situation called for him to be as calm and level headed as he could be, but his heart was racing. He had broken up the occasional fights that Zuko had with himself, but he hadn't dealt with one this bad the entire time he had known him.

Zuko thrashed against him, elbowing him in the ribs and yelped through his clenched teeth. His eyes rolled in the back of his head.

"ZUKO," Jet yelled, having no choice but to pin him down. He startled awake like he had been slapped. His eyes were too wide to fit on his face as he stared up at Jet, who was still hovering above him, still pressing him solidly into the bed.

In defeat, his body collapsed back down, chest heaving.

After what he had seen what Zuko was capable of at the kung fu studio, Jet was lucky not to have a black eye.

_ I should probably let him go, _ Jet thought to himself, but Zuko had a death grip on his elbows that rivaled a chokehold in strength.

"You okay?" It was a stupid question, but he had to ask.

Zuko just stared up at him, eye wide, chest heaving.

"Scoot over," Jet grunted, letting go of him on to climb further on to the bed. It was a king-sized and covered in blankets that cost an unfathomable amount.

Zuko made no objection and made room for him. Smellerbee gave a quick inspection of Zuko to make sure he wasn't physically hurt, her blunt nose snuffling his face and chest before she gave him a maternal lick on the cheek.

Jet watched him tremble, practically rattle with the downdraft of adrenaline washing over him. He scrubbed his stubby nails over his arms as he scanned the room, paranoia living in every twitch and flick of his eyes.

The simplistic, oversized clock on the wall told them it was three in the morning. The night terrors always seem to come at three. Jet hadn't been in the bedroom for any longer than it took to put in the security system in the windows. He hadn't taken the time to absorb anything other than the basic layout. Everything was white, gray, and black, the dressers, the closets, the doors, the furniture, the minimalist decoration.

Zuko counted out loud in a jumbled mess of all the languages that bounced around his mind, not bothering to try and find a pattern in their usage.

"How do you count to ten in Italian?" He muttered, collecting his knees to his chest and brushing at the gray silk sheets like he could wipe the shadows off.

Jet told him, and he repeated it flawlessly. His father had never sat down with the Juarez children and gave them lessons in Italian because Jet wasn't even sure that Hugo was completely fluent. His grandfather was from Florence and married a feisty woman from Sonora and never bothered to teach his children the language. Jet could count and curse, and he knew his cuisine, but not much else.

Zuko started over his counting, Jet recognizing the Italian and Spanish and English thrown into the mix. By his count, Zuko got to seventy-five before he finally had enough control to wipe the sweat off his forehead. It would be useless to go and get him a cup of tea like Jet felt the urge to do because he wouldn't be able to keep the liquid in the cup.

"Do you want me to call someone? Yue, maybe? Iroh? They might be able to help more than me-"

Zuko shook his head no. "I'm fine; you don't have to call anyone. You can leave now,"

Four years ago, he would have left without another word. Four years ago, he wouldn't have even climbed on the bed with Zuko, let alone sit as close as he was.

"I don't believe you," he said instead of walking away.

"You don't have to believe me," Zuko was still trying to get himself into the smallest ball he could possibly be and then some.

"I'll leave when I believe you,"

"You'll be here for a while then,"

"I've got nothin' better to do,"

A shiver struck him hard, racking his body like they had a point to prove.

"Come here," Jet sighed, sliding across the bed.

"Why?"

"My niece Guadalupe has pretty bad panic attacks; this is what we do to calm her down. Granted, I've never tried it on anyone over the age of five, but it's worth a shot, don't you think?"

Zuko stared at him halfway between disbelief and exhausted annoyance but slid closer to him anyway.

Zuko gave a quiet noise of surprise as Jet grabbed him around the waist and hauled him straight into his lap.

"What-"

"Shh," Jet hushed him, he pulled him in closer still, Zuko's back solidly up against Jet's chest, arms wrapped carefully around the shaking teenager.

"And this works for her?" he asked, not enough doubt to make him move.

"Every time,"

Jet felt every heartbeat that thrummed in its frenzied state, and he was relieved that after a while, it finally calmed down. The small, trembling body was so cold that it started seeping into Jet.

Neither of them was sure how long they sat there, tightly wrapped around each other, arms interlocked, and legs tangled.

Jet wanted to ask him about it. He wanted Zuko to tell him everything, to know that he didn't have to struggle with this alone.

Instead, his eyes dipped closed.

~0~

When Jet woke up, he had a bend in his spine that he made peace with it never going away. The back of Zuko's head was resting on his collarbone, turning to curl into his neck, warm breath against his throat. His arms were still locked around his waist.

Zuko was beautiful from this angle, but he was beautiful from every angle, and yet Jet couldn't look away.

There was no graceful way to get out of this situation. None. Jet went over every single option over and over in his mind, watching the sunrise through the window. He agonized over it until he figured that he would do the mature thing and wait until Zuko woke up, and then he would pretend to be asleep. Thus allowing Zuko to handle their predicament; however he chooses.

What he didn't expect was that he would sleep for a considerable length of time longer.

As he sat awake for going on forty-five minutes, he found himself drifting back to sleep. Though Zuko had been freezing the hours before, he had become a nice little space heater, and Jet was subconsciously wiggling closer. He smelled like an open flame and toothpaste.

He awoke gently as the sun hit his face, and he moved a little bit, and his head whipped around when he remembered that he wasn't alone. Jet peeked at him from the barest slit of his eye.

Turning bright red, Zuko stared at him for a moment. Jet vehemently fought his own blush while Zuko just  _ looked _ at him. This was not his first time waking up next to someone, but it was definitely the first time he had woken up next to someone that he had just held, a person that he had not slept with nor was in any danger of doing so.

Carefully, Zuko unwound himself from Jet's hold, who chose the mature path and still played unconscious. Watching him scurry to the bathroom made Jet curious as to how both of them would play this off later.

Because, like most things, there was a complete and total heterosexual explanation for it.

Even thinking it felt like a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, now back to a metric shit ton of chapters at once.


	14. Said the Lamb to the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is the lamb and who is the wolf?

It took the stalker thirteen days to find out Zuko's new phone number. 

This time, instead of breathing heavily on the other end, they were angry.

They didn't bother using anything that would modify their voice, a fact that scared Jet. The man on the other end was too emotional to cover up his tracks, what else would he do when he was blown into a fit of rage?

"Why did you do that?" He snapped on the other line, voice thin. Zuko stood with his hand over his mouth as he listened, paler than a ghost.

"Why would you change your phone number? You didn't have to go out and get another guard dog, especially one so big,"

Zuko flicked his eyes to Jet, who was leaning over a chair, absently rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip as the man on the other line ranted. 

"If you wanted someone to live with, why didn't you come talk to me? We see each other every day, how could you not think of coming to me?"

He spoke like every other New Yorker. Jet couldn't recognize his voice, and the number was only listed as 'unknown.' 

"I've shown you time and time again that I'm trustworthy, I can take care of you, I deserve to take care of you. Can't you see that?" The voice, slightly distorted by the cellphone, rang out clear and desperate. At the moment that he naively took for what he expected to be Zuko's emphatic agreement, Jet leaned over the phone.

He hadn't been this angry in a long time. Since he was no longer a hot-headed twenty year old, he didn't snap or yell. He didn't threaten or challenge—six simple words.

"Do not call this number again," He seethed, lacing every ounce of venom and alpha male he could into the sentence.

Stabbing his finger into the 'end call' button was not as satisfying as slamming a phone in its cradle or violently flipping a cellphone shut.

Zuko glared at the phone, fingers tapping erratically against his arm as he thought.

"I don't think your landlord would appreciate you shovin' that thing down the garbage disposal," Jet commented dryly, feeling every ounce of fear that Zuko was showing.

"How about out the window?" He rasped out, whole body twitching. 

"Might hit a pigeon on the way down,"

Zuko had barely enough time to back himself into the island counter before he slid to the floor. Jet surged across the room and caught his head before it was introduced to the floor quickly and mercilessly. Zuko was trembling as Jet let his head rest against the side of the island.

A good bodyguard would have hauled him up and put him in a chair, maybe called someone come and take care of this, but in that instance, Jet was pretty sure  _ he was _ the person that would have been called. So he lowered his body down on the expensive tile floors in front of Zuko.

"This is a lot worse than I thought," Zuko ran shaking fingers through his already wild hair, fingers tapping at the burn scar. "I thought maybe it was someone who was angry with my father or someone he fired, and they just wanted revenge, it's happened before,"

Jet wanted to throw up. Or maybe commit a homicide. Definitely a homicide. 

His shining, terrified eyes locked on Jet. The panic was tangible. "He said he wants to take care of me. What does that even mean? Is he in love with me?"

Jet scrubbed his hand over his face. "I don't know what to tell you, Zuko. Did you recognize his voice at all?"

"No. I have no idea who that was.  _ Oh my god, _ " He drew his knees up to his chest and hung his head between them, shakily inhaling and exhaling. "Is he going to come after me?" He peered up at Jet, his hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know," he sighed, hating that he didn't know.

"Is there anything you do know?"

"I will beat the shit out of him when I find him,"

Zuko snorted, but it was too close to panic to be an amused noise. Smellerbee and Longshot joined them, their furry bodies warming them up on the cold tile floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should go without saying that I was attempting to portray Zuko as scared and not weak, but sometimes those lines get crossed on the way out, so here is the reminder.  
> We all know our baddy ain't weak.


	15. Police

So much coffee was in Jet's system; he was buzzing. He wasn't sure if the apartment was shaking or his head, the hand that he was holding the pen in, _vibrated_.

The two had spent the whole night on the phone with the police; they were supposed to come down the station at noon to talk with the detectives assigned to the case. It was hardly six in the morning, the sun was just a pink smudge on the horizon, but there had been no sleep that night.

When he had called the police, Jet had already been compiling a list of every single person the two of them came across during the day, the description of people that he had seen more than once, the legal pad the two shared was a scratched mess of names and vague faces.

"I think you need to lay down," Zuko commented, staring at the pen quivering between his fingers. Jet couldn't help but marvel. It was completely involuntary, the shaking. He hadn't had this much coffee in months.

He opened his mouth to disagree and tell him that they needed to keep pushing through, but all that came out was a long hum.

"We have," he checked his disgustingly expensive watch, "Five hours and forty-seven minutes until we have to go to the station. If we haven't remembered more in the past six hours, then we probably won't,"

"And while I do that, you're just going to be out here by yourself?"

"I have the dogs,"

He wanted to argue. He wanted to see the flaw in his logic, but it was pretty sound. He was going on almost thirty hours of no sleep, and it was screwing with his head. Zuko saw that he was going to win, so he kept pressing him. "We know the dog walker is clean. It's a girl, and I'm pretty sure she has a girlfriend, so she has no interest in either of us. She's the only person that is supposed to come today; I'll call into work in half an hour and say that I can't make it. It'll all be fine. If it makes you feel better, the second anything of note happens, I'll wake you up. Deal?"

"It has to be somethin' that  _ I _ would think to be worth note, alright? If I would make a big deal of it, you gotta come get me. Then yes. Deal."

"So," an exhausted but coy smile struggled to life on his face. "If Longshot gets the hiccups again, I need to come to get you?"

Jet pursed his lips, an action that caught a tired Zuko's attention for a split second before he tore his eyes away to the floor.

"Don't be a smartass," He chastised without any actual anger. "I thought it was cute, so I called you over to watch it,"

"You hollered for me from clear across the apartment. I thought you were hurt,"

"We both know that I'm indestructible," Jet teased as he crash-landed on the couch, already losing consciousness.

~0~

The First Precinct was a drab, tan/gray building that had Zuko wrinkling his nose.

"Why was I picturing something more, I don’t know, impressive?" He asked himself out loud. Jet glanced at him. When he was a bodyguard the first time around, he wore a suit every day, Zuko couldn't have pictured him in jeans in a T-shirt, but that's all that he wore this time. He had finally ditched his literal combat boots for timberlands, and the suit jacket for a leather one. Zuko had made him put on a button-up before they left the apartment. That conversation had included a significant amount of grumbling and some swearing.

Now, instead of looking professional, Jet looked god damn terrifying. But the way that he walked and the way he was always looking at Zuko and held doors open for him, it made something squirm in Zuko's stomach. He had ignored it for the weeks that they had managed to cohabitate, but there were only so many times that Jet could walk from the bathroom to the office where he kept his stuff, in only a towel,  _ dripping wet, _ before the feeling came back.

This was his job though, at least, that's what Zuko was telling himself. He forced back the feeling while the charming bodyguard bumped shoulders with him while they made their way across the dingey parking lot. He shoved the light feeling that threatened to make his chest feel bubbly and expanded while Jet grinned at him in that lazy way, amber eyes only on him.

"I'll put in a request for a remodel, how does that sound?" He teased. Zuko could only roll his eyes because something dangerously close to a flirty response pressed against his throat.

The detective they spoke to was quite possibly someone out of a comic book: gray buzz-cut hair and thick eyebrows, broad shoulders, and deep voice. The seasoned detective had probably seen his fair share of wounds and scars and hardly spared Zuko a second glance. Zuko trusted him immediately. "What is your relationship with Zuko?" Detective Barron asked, scrawled on a notepad in front of him. Zuko didn't even want to  _ try _ and read what it said.

"Bodyguard,"

"What agency?"

"Gideon Security, based out of Brooklyn,"

Barron nodded as he scribbled down the information. "How many hours a day do you spend with him?"

"Twenty four seven, I pretty much live with him,'

This caught the detective's attention. "Where were you when this all started, Mister Juarez? I don't think I've ever spoken to you before, except for last night,"

"Well, I was in the middle east for four years before I came back about four weeks ago,"

"Uh, huh," he wrote that down too. "And then you just, what? Moved in with mister Agni?"

"Well, I was his bodyguard before then too, and I wasn't gonna go back until the security company called me and said that there was a problem,"

"So, you dropped everything and came back?" The detective furrowed his brow. Zuko didn't like how this was becoming an interrogation for Jet instead of staying focused on things that mattered.

For two seconds, Jet mulled how he wanted to answer that question over in his mouth. He couldn't give anything away that was too intimate, nor could he be too nonchalant about it. Zuko was a strong, confident person, but he wanted nothing less than to downplay him into something like an obligation. He didn't feel obligated to do this; he was doing this voluntarily.

"I've spent thousands of hours with him; I want to make sure that he's safe, not to mention he's grown on me," he turned and winked at Zuko, the squirm in his stomach wiggled to life as he rolled his eyes, but his cheeks turned the barest shade of pink.

"Has the stalker contacted you again since the call last night?"

"No,"

The detective heaved a sigh and sat back; his significant weight had the chair groaning at the action."Do you have any idea who it might be?"

Jet slid the legal pad across the desk, sighing. "This is every single person we come in contact with durin' the day, and everyone that lives in the apartment buildin' on the back,"

Zuko didn't know how he got the list of the residents, but this wasn't the time to ask.

Detective Barron raised a bushy eyebrow. "Have you dealt with a stalker before?"

"Not officially, sir, I just hate loose ends,"

"I could use more people like you in my department," he praised, steel-gray eyes scanning the list.

It was meant to be a compliment, to anyone else, it would have been. Jet put on a good face of pretending to be happy with what he said, but the second that the detective looked away, Jet's lips involuntarily curled into a sneer. The two of them had had this conversation before. Though they were both minorities in this country, they had very different experiences growing up, and Jet had his fair share of encounters with the police when he was young. You can't be a teenager of color in prime gang territory and not get stopped at least a dozen times, each less respectful than the last.

"And the man that called you last night, was there anything in what he said or the way he said it that you recognize?"

_ "We see each other every day, how could you not think of coming to me?" _ Zuko's lips went thin.

"No, but he said that we see each other every day. The man on the phone was none of my coworkers,"

"Do you interact with anyone else during the day? Someone you might have overlooked on your list? A grocer? A driver? The cook?"

"No," Zuko shook his head. All three of those jobs were taken care of by Jet.

"Alright," The detective scanned over the sheet again, still speaking. This was supposed to be a serious conversation, but all Zuko wanted to do was talk to him about his handlebar mustache and if his first name was Frank. "No, think over my next question and answer it honestly. Do you feel the need to have extra protection? As in, do you want a few officers to patrol the area?"

Knowing that it probably wasn't the best thing to refuse right away and at least give a few seconds of deliberation, Zuko turned to Jet. He could have a whole squadron of officers in front of his door, but he wouldn't feel safe unless Jet was standing next to him. It knew it was stupid and childish, but he couldn't make himself think anything different.

"What do you think?" Jet asked, putting on a great show of pretending not to be uncomfortable. Zuko wanted to curl up in a little ball under the chairs, but Jet was the exact opposite, Zuko knew it was forced confidence, but purely because he had known him for so long.

"He has never been in the apartment, only pictures and phone calls. It's up to you,"

This was not how it worked; everyone in the room knew that. Zuko was the boss, and Jet had to do whatever he said, but this was nowhere near Zuko's expertise. When Jet needed his phone fixed or someone to argue with his bank all day, that was Zuko. This was people and protection, and Zuko had no idea what he was doing.

"No, I don't think it will be necessary, thank you. We'll call if anything changes," Jet stood up and grasped the detective's hand, all rough and bravado. It was such a finalizing thing to do and say that Detective Barron didn't question it. He just shook his hand, and the two of them exchanged reassurances that this will be taken care of and not to worry.

Zuko thought that telling someone not to worry in a very stressful situation is an incredibly stupid thing to say. He offered the cop a tight-lipped smile as Jet led the way out of the office.

The two of them had to fill out a distasteful amount of paperwork at one of the desks with a woman that looked like nothing would please her more than Jet.

The man in question ignored her entirely.

"Do I..." He glanced at Zuko, breaking their silence. Though the rest of the department simmered with people and noise, they hadn't said a word to each other since they had left Detective Barron's office. Zuko looked up at him. He was tapping his mouth with the pen, drawing attention to his lips, the bastard. "Do I put the apartment down for my address?" As soon as he said it, he shook his head. "No, sorry, I'll put Ma's apartment down, sorry."

"No," Zuko found himself saying against his will. Usually, he would have just let Jet figure out his own thought process like usual, but for once, his tongue didn't choke him. "You can put down the apartment, I mean," He was  _ not  _ prepared to have Jet's eyes on him this intensely, and he could feel himself cracking at what he was implying. "I'm not saying that I want you to like, permanently move in or anything, it's just, you know, you haven't stayed at your mom's in like two weeks, and though you don't get your mail at the apartment, you definitely could. The dogs are there, and I'm there," He could feel his cheeks reddening, but he couldn't stop talking, it was like he was growing momentum. "Not that me living there has anything to do with it, except that you work for me and it would only make sense that you come to live with me, and I'm not charging you rent or anything," The only reason he stopped talking was that he ran out of breath and had to inhale. Literally no other reason. Jet had watched the whole performance with growing amusement.

"Okay." He said sweetly, scribbling down the address, biting back a smug smile.

Zuko mumbled and kicked himself for putting on such an embarrassing show, but he couldn't keep the excited grin off his face. Sure the circumstances were one of the most stressful things he's gone through, and he had stomach ulcers, but damn if the company wasn't good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of a clever character to be the detective so he's an OC. If you can think of a character with the personality of a slice of potato bread and the sense of humor of a cardboard box, lemme know. I'll change him.


	16. Rocky Transportation

Parking garages are the devil's playground. Every human that has ever stepped foot in one knows that it's perhaps the worst thing civilization has thought up.

Second only to traffic jams.

So, picture if you will, a traffic jam inside of a parking garage.

Jet wanted to kill everyone in the garage and then himself.

He had just driven the Telsa to Brooklyn to get it serviced, and he had made the mistake of glancing at the bill. That was maybe what he made in four months, and the kid was dropping that on servicing the car. The Tesla car had made no noise beneath him when he drove it, adding to the fact that he was nowhere near close to getting used to driving the white vehicle. Cars should make some noise,  _ any  _ noise. He was happy that his  _ Suzuki GXS-S _ was his transport today. God, he loved that bike.

Finally finally  _ finally, _ the line was clearing up. This snail-paced traffic was going on thirty-seven minutes of snaking through the tunnels behind slow-moving sedans and Priuses. Jet drummed his fingers on the throttle, anxious to get upstairs. Zuko wasn't alone, but he was without a security detail. Yue was great, but they were no bodyguard.

The squealing of tires turned his attention to the left, up the dark entrance tunnel.

A small red car raced his way, head-lights out, accelerator screaming.

" _ Fuck _ ," He barked, glancing around wildly for a place to slip through. The garage was too tight. There was nowhere for him to go.

The white suburban in front of him was too slow, too broad, too late.

There wouldn't be enough time.

Jet was shocked at how  _ powerful _ the impact was. He was a marine. He knew getting hit better than how to spell his name. But this, this was something else entirely.

The landing ricocheted in his head, rattling his brain, and vibrating his spine. Concrete was not a forgiving place to fall.

_ This is definitely going to bruise.  _ Jet thought to himself as he fought for breath. The smell of burnt rubber and the sharp tang of blood invaded his senses.

People flocked to his side, their garbled voices telling him that he would be fine.

_ Well, of course, I'm gonna be okay, _ he wanted to tell them, _ I've gotta be to work in ten minutes. _

The world swam around him before it faded from view.

~0~

"For the last time, I am fine. Perfectly, one hundred percent, a-okay," He sighed, eyebrows raised and flicking his gaze between a glowering Zuko and a frowning Maria.

"My ribs have bruised, I pulled a muscle in my shoulder, twisted my knee, and I have a fat lip. All things considered, I think this is a pretty good outcome,"

Maria growled at him, swatting his non-injured leg with her purse.

"Ay! Mama," he called out.

Itzair shrugged. "I've seen him get more hurt falling out of a tree in central park when he drunk,"

"See?" He pointed his hand at his sister. "Also, that was a secret, and you were not supposed to tell Mama about it," he chastised. Itzair shrugged again. She was a nurse here at the hospital, and she had stopped in to visit.

Zuko said nothing and sat in the corner of the room; arms crossed tightly across his chest.

"Are you coming home with me then,  _ Mijo _ ?" Maria asked, lips tight.

"No, I have to work tonight," He shook his head.

She scolded him in Spanish, telling him that he works every night and that he can come home for at least one night, especially now that he is injured.

"Mama, trust me. I need to work tonight, okay? I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't. Just trust me."

There was no way in hell that he was leaving Zuko home alone. There was not a bone in his body that said this hit and run was an accident. It was the stalker. It had to be. There were three other people on a bike in that line, one wasn't wearing a helmet, and the other was directly in front of the entrance. Whoever had crashed into him had to have followed Jet in, and purposefully sought him out.

"I trust you, Jet. But not to keep yourself safe," She sighed, kissing his cheek.

"I know, Mama,"

"Call me when you get home, my love," She said with her lips pressed thin. She wanted nothing more than to take him home with her.

"Love you too," he said and watched her walk out of the door, her gray hair shifting as she shook her head.

The doctor had come in to talk to him a while ago and said that he was ultimately okay. He was waiting for a nurse to bring the papers in for him to sign. Then he was free to go.

"Oh, I am not excited to pay for this medical bill," he grumbled to himself, scratching at the knee brace they had wrangled him on him. He had to admit, though, the second they strapped it on, a significant amount of the pain went away.

"I'm paying," Zuko said quietly from the corner.

"I have insurance; it'll cover most of it; it's fine, Zuko," he reassured.

"I'm paying for it," He retorted austerely, effectively ending the conversation.

There was no way in hell that Jet would admit that he kind of liked it when he was bossy.

"This isn't your fault, you know. So don't you dare start mopin' around thinkin' that it is," Jet said calmly. He could hardly stifle the groan as he sat up. It slipped through anyhow.

Zuko shifted from foot to foot next to him, hands out, and ready to help.

"I'm not gonna fall," Jet grunted, swatting away his hand.

"I'm not going to walk away," Zuko snapped back.

"Carry my stuff then," he gestured vaguely to the helmet and jacket in a plastic hospital bag on a chair across the room.

"There's blood on the jacket," Zuko said monotonously, letting it dangle by a sleeve. Sure enough, there were dark brown splatters on the sleeve and collar.

"That's how cuts usually work, " he croaked out, standing up on shaky legs. "They bleed. Some of them bleed a lot,"

"It was him, wasn't it?" Zuko whispered while he ignored Jet's attempts at zipping up his coat and doing it for him. He was close enough that Jet could smell the eucalyptus from his shampoo.

"I think so, yeah,"

Zuko sighed, hands resting on Jet's shoulders, so hot that it seeped through his shirt.

"Remember, I told you that this isn't your fault," Jet tried to reassure, but it was harder than he thought, especially with Zuko so close. His scar was harsher in the light of the hospital, bloody looking and shiny.

His posture was ready for war, and his eyes screamed of homicide, but he nodded at his bodyguard. Looking in his eyes was like staring into the heart of a bonfire. Jet was willing to get burnt just to get a touch of it.

"We'll get him, okay? This isn't gonna last forever, I promise,"

"I believe you," He whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOH, a slightly longer and more... detailed chapter coming ahead.


	17. Déjá vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up my lovelies, I love this chapter. I know it's sort of conceited to laugh at my own jokes, but I guess I'm pretty conceited because I laughed the entire time I was editing this.

Though his ribs ached, his head throbbed, and his knee refused to move the right way, Jet couldn't sit down. Zuko perched on the island counter; hair fluffed up from his fingers, continually running through it. The anger was evident in the set of his lips. The worry tapped out of him through his foot like a telegram of his anxiety. A smear of Jet's blood was on his shirt sleeve still, dried and brown.

"Do you have any whiskey?" Jet tore his eyes away and glanced around the kitchen. There was a sizable wine rack on the dining room wall, but wine gave him hiccups.

"No."

"Tequila?"

Zuko wasn't quite glaring, but it was  _ not  _ a hospitable look. "No."

"Isopropyl alcohol?"

"Saki,"

" _ Salud _ ," Jet replied solemnly. Zuko leveled his gaze at him, backfiring his joke.

"If you want something to 'take the edge off' or whatever you closet alcoholics say, the best thing in my house is Saki."

"I am not an alcoholic," Jet tried to defend himself and frown simultaneously, but a roar from his black eye told him not to move his face.

"Okay," came a disbelieving snapback.

Having little evidence to prove him otherwise, Jet let the conversation go.

"You should call your bosses or whatever, and tell 'em that you're not comin' into work tomorrow,"

"Why am I not going into work tomorrow?"

Sarcasm made him want to gesture to himself and say that he wasn't going to get up at the ass crack of dawn with Zuko in the morning because he was only going to feel worse later.

"Police are goin' to want to talk to us more, guarantee it,"

"But I talked to them for an hour tonight,"

"I know what I'm talkin' bout, okay? The family that was with before you, they were always gettin' in fights. It was exhaustin', that's why I switched over to your family. The police never seem to get enough info. They always want to waste your whole day with dumb ass questions and right down shit on their little notepads," He sighed and leaned heavily against the counter. "Then, they'll leave the room, talk to some other officer, then they'll come back in, and then that officer will ask the same fuckin' questions the other one asked. It's an infinite loop of bullshit,"

Zuko watched with raised eyebrows as he sipped his tea. "No wonder you went into personal security and not law enforcement," he commented.

"I was a brown kid that grew up in the projects. I don't have the best stories about the NYPD,"

"You're just scared you wouldn't look good in a police uniform," Zuko said casually.

Jet blanched.  _ He  _ was the one that was supposed to tease and poke fun, not the other way around. But as the barest hints of a smirk pulled up the corners of Zuko's mouth overtop the perfectly composed face as he took a sip of his tea, Jet decided that he didn't mind.

"Excuse you," He grinned even though it hurt like a bitch "I look pretty damn fine in a uniform, you've never seen me in my fatigues,"

"What? Is that supposed to change my mind or something?" He joked.

As Jet licked his lips, it snapped him out of it. The stinging flare of pain on the cut made him realize what they were doing.

_ Flirting _ . It was so easy when they were alone. It was easy to think that they were the only people and there wouldn't be consequences when other people were around, because other people make things real, when the threat of being seen or found out was imminent, then it was real. But here, alone in the kitchen after sunset, this wasn't something to be found out, because to them it wasn't a secret.

"Your face is swelling more,"

"You are gettin' a bit blurrier,"

"You honestly need to ice it,"

Head injuries were the weirdest sort of trip you'll ever go on. Jet could file his taxes right now or cook a full meal, but he couldn't tell the difference in the colors on the dishtowel by the sink. Not sure how he could mix up yellow and pink so severely, he hyper fixated on it while Zuko got the ice from the refrigerator. His fridge growing up did  _ not _ have an ice maker. They didn't have a dishwasher or a microwave, and it took eight long, sweltering years to convince his parents that needed an air conditioning unit in the apartment.

Not quite remembering how he got there, Jet was standing between Zuko's legs. He was a few inches taller, sitting on the marble-topped counter, yet he was still able to look up at Jet through his lashes. The ice in the pink or yellow towel made him flinch as it made contact with his face, flaring up the pain that had just faded to a dull hum.

"Sorry," Zuko murmured as Jet hissed.

Zuko was so close. Through a partially swollen eye, Jet could see details about him that he missed when he wasn't standing eight inches away from him. His rattled brain fixated on the exposed pulse in his throat under his collar, then to the small mole on the underside of his jaw, and the way he was going to get permanent frown lines if he continued to make that face.

He opened his mouth to tell him that, but a wave of dizziness whirled around his head like a static tornado, and he almost fell. Grabbing onto the cabinet with both hands, he dipped his head down and fought the call of gravity, yanking him down to the hardwood floor.

"Hey? Are you okay?" Zuko asked, and Jet took in a deep breath through his nose and smelled the warmth of Zuko's skin. He cracked open his eyes and slowly tipped his head back up until he was face to face with an unabashedly concerned Zuko.

"Peachy," he grunted back, not able to let go yet, despite the incredibly awkward situation in which they were locked. White knuckled hands gripped the counter on either side of Zuko's hips, chests inches from touching and faces within close enough proximity to make a bystander blush. "I haven't had the shit so thoroughly kicked out of me since the nineties," He glanced up at Zuko. He wished it was his near-death experience that made him think that he was beautiful in a way that he  _ finally  _ understood why people tried their damnedest to capture it in words or paintings.

"Why are you smiling at me?" Zuko mused, hand still cupped against Jet's face with the ice pack, not making any move to get away from him.

_ Am I smiling _ ? He said to himself but ultimately shrugged. "I guess I was rememberin' the last time one of us got beat up, oh the nostalgia,"

"That was a lifetime ago,"

"It was only like, five years,"

"Tell me that we both aren't different people, compared to who we were back then?" His sharp golden gaze flicked to Jet's, and he had no choice but to concede.

"I can't,"

"Exactly,"

With all his deeply ingrained bodyguard training, you would think that every red flag and alarm would be flashing and beeping annoyingly loud in Jet's head at the moment, but his head was serenely quiet. That doesn't bode well for his intelligence, but that particular bar has been set low from the beginning. Close enough to feel his client's body heat simmer off of him and smell the mint tea on his breath, Jet didn't want to move away from him.

Seemingly sharing the same sentiment, Zuko watched every move he made with heavy-lidded eyes and gently flushed cheeks, an authentic recipe for disaster.

With a steady, boiling hand, Zuko reached out and ran a thumb over the crack in the side of Jet's bottom lip, catching him off guard. Every nerve in his body was focused on the pad of his thumb as it traced over his lips with great care. The world was spinning far too fast.

Jet sighed involuntarily, and his hot breath washed over Zuko's hand, and that sent ricocheting shivers across his body.

They had settled into a system of checks and balances. When one of them was slipping, the other made up for it and caught them before it went too far. It had worked so far, but everything they had been fighting for weeks might crash down around them in seconds.

Rome wasn't built in a day, but it burned in one. How is this any different?

"I'm sorry you got hurt today," Zuko whispered.

"So am I."

"Do you still want alcohol?"

"...no"

There was no reason to say no, but he forgot why he had wanted it in the first place. For a distraction or for numbing, perhaps, but he was nothing more than a pounding heart now, and every part of him that was being touched by Zuko was welcome.

"Thank you for protecting me, Jet."

Suddenly weak in the knees and not from his injuries, he just nodded.

Tilting his head up just a fraction, Zuko gently kissed Jet's forehead like a maiden thanking a knight. The act called for laughter, but Jet's mouth was too dry. His mind was a whirling, churning mass of undulating emotion and hemorrhaging actions. In other terms, he short-circuited.

Several breaths later, he found his voice.

"You wanna, um, you wanna try that again?"

"Do you want me to?" He asked serenely. In the years he had been gone, Zuko's voice deepened considerably. The rasp of his voice pretty much burned the innocence from the tone.

_ When the hell did you get so grown up? _ Jet marveled up at him. Zuko's hand had drifted from his mouth and settled on his shoulder, hot fingers against his neck.

The first time they kissed, it was in a four-door suburban with a center console between them and the aching feeling that it was the end of the world.

Now, there was nothing between them but caution, and there was unquestionably a tomorrow in their sights.

And it made it all the more terrifying.

Everything about Jet was cold. his lips, his hands, his skin. He was like the other side of the pillow during a heatwave, the cool slide of marble countertops under your fingertips or a mouth full of lemonade. He was reassuring in the way that cool things could be.

Everything about Zuko was hot. His lips, his hands, his skin. He was like a sunburn after an endless day at the beach, the excellent heat of a bubble bath, or the fire that leaps into your veins when you feel brave.

They didn't clash as they should have. Two uneven temperatures didn't swirl each other angrily, trying to make a tornado. Nor did they combine and create something mellow and lukewarm. It was something fantastic and breathtaking, and both of them knew it.

As Jet stepped closer into Zuko's hold, he marveled at how stupid he was for not kissing him the second, he came back from deployment and every moment since. Zuko moved like a flame against him, smooth and devouring and delightfully respondent. His simmering fingers wound their way up into his hair and held on.

Zuko locked his ankles around Jet's waist, pulling him closer. The world was spinning too fast, but the softness of Zuko's tongue against his own pinned him to the earth like an anchor.

Every time he had beaten himself up for wondering what Zuko tasted like was forgotten. This was weeks in the making, and it felt good, right. Rules are damned, especially on this night when Jet could have died.

Searing pain in his knee slammed into him like a tsunami, knocking him off balance.

Zuko has just enough time to grab onto his shirt as he slumped against him, locking him against the island counter.

"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay? Jet, are you okay?"

He nodded against Zuko's stomach. His cheek rested on his thigh, his face buried in his stomach. Every breath he took slid his shirt over his face. Zuko held him up by his collar.

"We need to get to the couch, do I need to take you back to the hospital?"

"So the bastards can tell me to lay down and take it easy for the next week? Nah, I don't think I'm gonna pay four hundred bucks for a jackass intern to tell me that. I've been beaten to shit before; I just gotta lay down,"

It was an arduous process getting him to the couch. First, Zuko had to get off the counter, then across the kitchen into the living room, Zuko's hand wrapped around his belt, the other firmly holding a giant handful of his blood-splattered shirt.

He didn't let go until Jet was safe on the couch, flat on his back and Yorkie on his stomach. Both of them were panting and sweaty.

"I'm going to get a shirt from your bag, and you're going to put it on,"

"It's fine. I don't mind,"

" _ I mind _ the blood you're going to get on my couch," Zuko snapped back, not pulling his hands away from his chest.

"Okay," he smiled. It hurt.

Silently thanking god that he didn't have anything embarrassing in his bag for Zuko to find, Jet tried to calm his racing head. He knew, logically, that this wasn't a good idea. But  _ oh _ , it felt good. And safe.

Safe for the first time in years.

Zuko watched unashamed as Jet unbuttoned his work shirt and tried to get the t-shirt over his head.

A sharp stab in his shoulder wouldn't allow for him to raise them above his head.

Zuko frowned the whole time.

"I have a zip-up hoodie in my bag, I think that will work better," the spasming pain in his ribs was pounding into him, and it was hard to talk through.

Nodding, he took the globbed shirt from him and went to get the hoodie.

This time, instead of watching idly by and frowning, Zuko helped slide his arms into the sleeves, hands gliding over his bare skin. Jet couldn't fight the shiver that the burning hot hands elicited.

Jet tried to catch his eye as he zipped the shirt halfway up, leaving a sizable amount of deeply tanned skin showing.

"You didn't have to do that,"

"I know that. I also know that you wouldn't have hesitated to do it for me,"

He didn't disagree, because he was right.

"You can't go to sleep," Zuko fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie, trying to make them even. "You might get brain damage if you sleep with a concussion, even if it's a mild one." He managed to get them to the desired length but didn't walk away. "Lucky for you, I'm still an insomniac, so what movie do you want to watch?"

Jet snorted. "Fine, but you have to sit with me on the couch or no deal" He raised an eyebrow, not caring that it hurt. Pain be damned; he needed it for dramatic flair.

"I cannot work under such conditions," Zuko shook his head, but he was already sitting down.

The movie was long. There were too many fake action sequences, and unreal dialog like it was written by someone who had no life experiences. The whole time, Jet was dreading the conversation that he was going to have to have with Zuko. He didn't want to bring it up, he knew for sure that Zuko didn't want to talk about it either, but it needed to be done. Not a syllable about the last kiss uttered, and that was four years ago.

When the credits rolled across the screen, Zuko shifted to grab the remote to turn on yet another, Jet grunted. He curled his hand around Zuko's wrist.

"We need to talk about what happened tonight," glancing at his hand at his wrist, Zuko's brow furrowed a bit.

"Why? We already talked to the police, and they seem like they're going to handle it. I wouldn't mind having the guy's head on a pike, though,"

"No," Jet shook his head but regretted it immediately. "Not the accident. What, uh," he scratched his chin. "What happened in the uhh, the kitchen,"

"Oh,"

His hand was still on his wrist, but neither was pulling away.

"Why do we have to talk about it?"

"Because I don't want to pretend like it didn't happen, I don't want to ignore it like last time,"

Zuko looked at him with heavy eyes, his head resting against the couch as he spoke, cheeks a bit rosy, but the rest of him was stretched out and relaxed. "You're a big strong man. Isn't that what you do best? Ignore the bleak realization that you made out with someone who has a dick?"

The was retort lost on Jet's tongue, but his mouth stayed open. Zuko always seemed to have that effect on him.

"If we don't talk about it, then it might not be true, and you won't have to deal with it, so maybe it will happen again. At least, that's what I've figured."

"Have you thought about it a lot?" Jet cleared his throat. His chances of regaining control over this conversation were gone, and they both knew it.

"I was eighteen, and my hot bodyguard kissed me the night before he was being deployed to fight in a war. I've watched movies with a worse plot than that. I couldn't have dreamed it any better,"

Jet remained caught between the fact that Zuko thought he was hot and that he was only eighteen when that had happened.  _ I am going to hell _ , he said to himself.

"We could get in so much trouble," he admitted, not wanting to listen to his excuses.

"Then why are you only looking at my lips?" Zuko's mouth curled into a grin.

"Because they're rather distractin',"

"I thought you were supposed to be on guard all the time,"

"I am,"

"Then stop leaning closer to me,"

If the shifting grind in his ribs hadn't announced it loudly, Jet wouldn't have noticed that he was inching towards Zuko like he had a gravitational pull. All rational thought had flown out of his brain when he got hit by a car. Not that there was much rationality beforehand, in all fairness.

"And if I don't wanna?"

"Then do not preach to me of the consequences. I am grown, as are you. We can do as we please,"

"And what are we gonna do?"

That smile again. Wide enough that it exposed his sharp teeth, head tilted back and pale throat exposed.

They were skating on thin ice with shoes made of concrete and broken glass. They both knew how to swim, true, but what good company to drown with.

"We will do whatever we want. Weren't you listening?"

"I always listen when you speak," He whispered back soberly.

"What if I say that we should kiss again? Would you consider my suggestion?" He inched closer to Jet, and Longshot had taken the hint and left the couch.

"Yes. There wouldn't be much deliberation, but yes. Always."

Zuko's long legs unfolded from beneath himself on the couch, and he carefully kneeled on the floor by Jet's head, hands floating around his torso, looking for a place that wasn't broken or bruised for him to touch. He settled for the center of his stomach, long fingers splayed out across the black fabric, and the other fiddled with the zipper.

Jet prayed in all of the languages he knew as Zuko chewed on his bottom lip, his shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Jet had never found it odd that forearms had never held an acute attraction for him. But watching Zuko play with the zipper of his hoodie with large pale hands with veins that stuck out and corded up his wrists and hid under his shirt, he was astonished that he never knew how amazing they are.

"Jet?" Zuko asked, voice barely above a whisper. He zipped it up to his throat, then back down lower than where it had been before.

"Yes?"  _ God _ , he just wanted to reach out and touch him, his hands twitched, but he knew that would mess with whatever Zuko was doing.

"I think we should kiss again. Do you agree?"

Had Jet not been so damaged, Zuko would have been flipped on his back where Jet was now, long limbs curled around his body. All he could do now was give an emphatic  _ yes _ .

He understood that the injury was an integral piece in the timeline of them kissing, but it was pissing him off that he couldn't move the way he desperately wanted.

Zuko stayed kneeling on the floor, one hand on his chest the other on his good shoulder. There was only so much Jet could do while lying down, and he couldn't move. His face and shoulder howled every time he so much as thought about moving his arms, and Zuko wasn't getting any closer.

He growled against Zuko's mouth and pulled away. Zuko's honey eyes were wild, fingers tightening around a handful of his shirt he had in his grasp at the sound.

Jet watched on in immobile agony as he licked his lips and swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, eyes flicking over his body.

"No," Jet sighed.

"Then what's wrong?"

"I can't touch you," he vehemently fought the whine out of his voice.

Zuko delicately raised an eyebrow. "And that's pissing you off?"

"Very much, yes."

"How come?"

"Because it's gotta hurt your knees, sitting' like that, and I-" he flustered around for the right words. "And I just wanna touch you, okay?"

Running his long piano fingers over his jaw and tilting his chin up enough for further examination of his mouth, Zuko's voice was hardly above a whisper. "I would have gotten on my knees regardless,"

A strangled noise caught in Jet's throat at the notion, every thought in his brain came to a screeching halt. A strong wave of a mixture of hunger and want crashed over him, resulting in him to try and shift his body, trying to get closer. Pain flared up in every square inch of his being, and he collapsed back down on the couch with a loud groan.

"I'm going to get you more Tylenol," Zuko fluidly stood up and walked to the kitchen, laughing. Jet watched him walk away for as long as he could until his body threatened a mutiny.

Jet tried to stew and pout, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. He could have bottled that noise, Zuko's laughter. It was so rare, and it could have been like a fine wine, bottled and sipped on later.

So he laid there and basked in the sound because he knew it wasn't such a familiar sound.


	18. Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for just general unpleasantness.

"Are you listening to yourself?" Zuko blanched at Jet. "There is no way in  _ hell _ that McGregor would win against Mayweather. No way. You're delusional,"

The elevator was a little too narrow for both of them to walk through at the same time, but they pretended not to notice that they were smushed shoulder to shoulder, hands brushing as they walked.

"I'm not sayin' that I would necessarily  _ want _ McGregor to win, that dude is a major asshole, but I think he has just enough of the crazy in him to stand a shot,"

"I'm sorry, but your logic is flawed," Zuko shook his head.

"Please, I have been watchin' boxin' since before you were born," Jet scoffed.

"Jet, you are six years older than me. It's not like that gave you more of an advantage. I bet you were still watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,"

"Excuse you," Jet pretended to be hurt, but the smile was too hard to fight. They were still walking pushed up together as if the hallway was shrinking on them. It was not. "But I watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles last week,"

"Are you telling me that you have the same maturity level as a six-year-old? Because I will not argue with you about it,"

Jet boomed out a laugh, standing close enough to Zuko that he could feel the vibration of it from where he stood. It made his stomach tingle.

His laughter paused in his throat when they made it to his apartment, his demeanor changing in an instant.

"What?" Zuko asked, glancing around the charming hall.

"The door is open," Jet whispered, gesturing to the cracked open door.

"What?" Sure enough, the door was open.

"Oh my god, did someone break-in?" Zuko whispered.

"Shh," Jet took a step ahead of him and swept him behind his back, pushing him closer. "Stay behind me, do not move; do not make a sound. Get out your phone and call the cops,"

With shockingly steady fingers, Zuko pulled his phone from his back pocket and started dialing the police. It had been two weeks since the stalker had hit Jet with his car, two weeks without any contact with him of any kind. And now this.

The massive brass statue of a praying Taoist monk that sat on a table by the door fits nicely in Jet's hand. Zuko was whispering something into his phone as they crept into the foyer.

Something pressed into Jet's other hand, and he glanced down, recognizing the tube of pepper spray that he had given to Zuko weeks earlier. He had no idea where Zuko had stashed it up until that point, but he couldn't care about that right now.

All of the lights were on, and Jet wished that they weren't. He didn't want Zuko to see it all.

Top to bottom, the apartment was trashed. Books from the tightly crammed cases laid scattered across the floor, stomped on and ripped up. Vases smashed, lamps tipped over, tables flipped.

Jet stepped over the tattered remains of a complete encyclopedia set, Zuko close behind him.

Cold fingers wrapped around Jet's belt, knuckles pressed into the small of his back.

Rage filtered through him. He hated this scumbag before, but oh how he hated him  _ right now. _ For making Zuko scared. For ruining his house. All of it. He wanted him to burn.

The scratching noise coming from the bathroom had both of them whirling. Jet swore under his breath, sparing a glance at Zuko. He was paler than a sheet, but he was fine.

A low, impatient whine came from behind the door, and Zuko cried out.

"Oh my god, the dogs," He scrambled towards the door and wrenched it open.

Smellerbee and Longshot tumbled out, hackles raised.

Smellerbee looked remarkably similar to when Jet first saw her, scared and mouth wrapped in thick black lines of electrical tape.

Anger was no longer a sufficient word to describe the liquid wrath that overwhelmed his body.

Zuko choked back a sob as he fumbled to get it off of her mouth, peeling ever so gently from her snout.

Zuko sat on the floor, angrily dashing away tears, tape clenched in his white-knuckled fist as Smellerbee gave him a maternal kiss to the cheek before standing next to Jet, ready to go with him. She hadn't been concerned about the tape at all. 

Together they pressed onward into the rest of the apartment.

Jet found Zuko a few minutes later, holding his violin like a wounded animal, curled up by his piano.

Smellerbee had searched the whole house with him, her astute nose scouring everything, but the man must have left before the two of them came home. Other than the small patch of hair on the top of her snout missing, she was okay.

"Did you touch anythin' else?" Jet sighed, pocketing the pepper spray.

"No," He then nodded to the statue still clutched in Jet's white-knuckled grip. "Could you put the Daoshi back, please? He wouldn't be very pleased with you if he found out that you were going to use him for violence," He mused, voice flat and face emotionless.

Jet walked back to the door and set the statue down, patting it on the head for luck before walking back to Zuko.

"You need to come to see your bedroom,"

Zuko gave him a withering look.

"Please don't make me,"

"He has pictures. I just thought I should warn you,"

"He already took pictures. He already broke into my house; he hurt my dogs and tried to run you over. What else can he do? What else could I possibly care about that he could take away from me?"

Jet squatted down next to him and carefully took the violin from his fingers and set it on the stand. The neck was broken, and all of the strings snapped. The bow was currently impaling the couch.

"I know. I'm so sorry that this happenin', Zuko, I truly am. I wish I could make it all better,"

Reaching out, Jet cupped his cheek in his palm. He had never touched the scar, never had a reason or a chance. Zuko sighed into his touch, closing his eyes. Jet's thumbs stroked under his eye, feeling the tight smoothness of the burn.

"What are the pictures of?"

~0~

The detective was kind enough not to let every investigator that had rushed to the house look at the pictures—scattered over the bed and onto the floor, stabbed into the walls with pencils and pens. They were everywhere.

The words  _ "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU" _ were scratched into the drywall. Looking at it made Jet see red. He wanted to wring this bastard's neck.

The bed had been laid in. It was pretty obvious. Clothes were taken from the meticulously organized and fastidiously pressed closet and laid about too. From the way that they were wrinkled and that some of the underwear had wet spots on them, it was clear that they were worn and used.

Jet had told Zuko what the pictures held, and he had decided that he would trust Jet's judgment on this because he didn't want to see them.

He sat on the couch. Now alone that the dog walker had agreed to look after the dogs for a while. He answered every single question in a clipped, tight-lipped sort of way. Jet's heart ached for him.

The detective made his way through the bedroom, the forensic photographer had moved on, and the woman putting things in bags was making her way behind him.

"Do you know who the other man in the photos is?" Barron asked, looking at the three worst pictures that were stabbed above the headboard.

"No idea," He replied, not able to look away from the pictures.

The photos from before were intrusive; these were violating.

A sliver of shame worried its way into Jet's gut as he pored over the pictures again. He had pictured Zuko like this a few times. When they had kissed a week ago, he had envisioned it. When he was alone, the thought had crossed his mind. But seeing photos of him with someone else, snapshots of such a private, intimate moment, it infuriated him in a way he had never felt. The fury was not something that he had expected, and it was harder to tamp down than he thought.

He reminded himself, practically every three days, that Zuko was not his to have, only protect. He was his own person, and he didn't belong to Jet or anyone. He could do whatever he wanted, and from these pictures, he could do  _ whoever  _ he wanted too.

"Has Zuko taken a look at them yet?" Detective Barron asked.

"No. I couldn't bring myself to make him come in here,"

The detective nodded.

A few minutes later, Jet was sitting down next to Zuko, watching his face while he looked at the photos from the forensic camera. He wanted to touch him again, to give him some sort of reassurance that it would be okay, somehow.

He pressed his knee against Zuko's, an innocent enough action that it wouldn't arouse suspicion.

"Who is that guy?" The detective asked, an unexpected tenderness in his voice. He was taking no joy in this, either. Jet was strangely thankful.

"A guy from a club," He responded, face betraying no emotion.

"His name?"

"His name is irrelevant. It's not him,"

"We can't be certain on that, Mister Agni,"

"Mister Agni is my father," Zuko snapped, his eyes churning magma. "I am not my father. The man in the photographs is not the stalker, and I know this because not only is he a resident of Switzerland, he is also on the Olympic Ski team. And for his safety as well as my own, I will not tell you his name,"

The detective's eyes went a little wide before he nodded.

The rest of the night was full of questions and bland officers, phone calls, and people trailing in and out of the apartment.

By the time that the two of them had a moment together that wasn't surrounded by people, it was well into the night.

"I'm really sorry that you had to look at those pictures," Zuko said, eyes fixed on the chandelier halfway torn out of the ceiling.

Jet shrugged.

"My buddies show me those sorts of pictures for fun. I'm used to it,"

"Your friends are disgusting," He retorted, hands twisting around each other.

"That they are," He settled back down next to Zuko on the couch. He let the dent that Jet's body made in the cushions pull him into the bodyguard.

"I understand if you want to quit. All of this is more than I thought it would be," he mumbled into Jet's shoulder.

"You honestly think that this son of a bitch is going to drive me away?" He glanced down at Zuko, whose head was resting on his chest.

A faint memory of a smile stretched his lips.

"No. You won't leave until you get to choke that rat out, right?"

"Absolutely right," Jet grunted.

Zuko ran his index finger over Jet's scarred up knuckles a few times before whispering, "What now? What do we do now?"

"Remember when I said that we would see what Canada was like this time of year?"

"You were serious?"

"I have not, nor will I ever lie to you about your safety. Yes, I meant it. And I still do. He's not playin' around, Zuko. He says he wants to kill you, and I'm not waitin' around to see if he means it,"

"Okay," he murmured.

"And we also need to take a moment of appreciation that you smashed someone that is in the  _ Olympics _ . I feel like that needs a separate party or somethin'. Who knew you've got game," He nudged Zuko's shoulder, pressing down the jealousy. Oh, what an ugly head it has and rears it often.

"Oh god," Zuko snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle that turned into a laugh, and soon he was a mess against Jet's chest.

Just as he had expected, it soon dissolved into tears.

Jet held him against his chest as he cried, fists grasping great handfuls of Jet's shirt.

As much as he wanted to go out and find this rotten sewage of a human being, his only priority was keeping Zuko safe.

And that is  _ exactly _ what he was going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna clear the air before any ideas fully form, nothing has progressed further without your knowledge. Every milestone will be shown in the story. I hate it when authors leave certain things ambiguous, like if things are happening between the chapters.  
> SO, you will stand witness to all of their... transgressions. For a lack of a better word.


	19. Ontario

The man that handed Jet the keys to the tiny cabin he had rented was old in the neighborly sort of way, wrinkled face, and a baseball cap probably had a grandson named Billy and liked Old Westerns.

There were more trees here than Zuko had ever seen. His whole life, he had hardly ever seen the horizon or a sky not shrouded by buildings, even in Japan. Here, no cars honked their horns; there was no such thing as smog, the nearest big city an hour away.

It took twenty more minutes to get to the cabin from the main office.

"OH MY GOD," Zuko squawked as a bear lumbered in front of them, not two hundred feet away.

"Is that a bear?"

"Yes?" Jet replied, throwing him a confused look.

"They're a lot smaller than I thought they would be," he was still frowning.

"Okay, well, try and see how that reasoning works out for you when the four hundred pound thing is gnawing on your face. I'm sure it'll remind the bear that it 'needs to be smaller'"

Zuko mocked him in a high-pitched voice.

The back of the Subaru held their bags. As shocking as it might sound, there are no adaptable charging stations for Teslas out in the middle of the woods in the Ontario wilderness. They rented the Subaru, and the second Zuko signed the papers, they left the dealership, Canada bound.

It was well over six hours to their destination, a small cabin in the forests of Kingston.

Jet could smell the air getting cleaner.

The last mile of their journey, he rolled the windows down all the way, the cold damp air invading the cab. This was  _ not _ something you did in the city unless you wanted to let in the exhaust of the eighty cars around you. It was also, somehow, an open invitation for homeless people to come up and talk to you. The only time Jet could remember rolling down car windows that ended with him being happy was when he went through fast-food lanes.

Zuko was about to protest when he heard it.

The silence.

The absolute silence of the forest, that wasn't really all that quiet, but it was the best sort of noise.

The tires ground on the gravel, and beyond that, the birds chirped, and the trees whispered together; the ferns hushed them gently.

Zuko closed his eyes and inhaled the forest.

It hadn't been that hard to arrange it all; Jet had the police tell his mom that he was leaving, in case the stalker had somehow tapped his phone or followed him. He would have had to take the Tesla anyway; his bike was still totaled. There was no hope left for it.

The driveway was just two tracks carved into the forest floor, tracing up and to the right past the trees.

"Longshot would hate this," Jet commented, eyes wide at all the trees.

"He would try and fight the first porcupine he saw, and our little vacation would be cut a few days short,"

Zuko grinned.

"Smellerbee would love it, though. She always loved it when I would take her to Central Park. We'd spend hours carefully smelling each tree,"

The way he phrased it made it sound as though he was partaking in the tree sniffing activities, and that made Jet smile.

"And Longshot? What did he think of the trees?"

"He made me carry him the whole time, so I'll let you decide,"

The tiny path finally ended, and there sat the cabin. It was small, smaller than Zuko had ever considered a house could be, but it was beautiful. It was everything that he thought it would be, but corporeal.

"Do you think those antlers are real?" He nodded up to the elk antlers fastened above the door.

"Looks like it,"

They sat in the car for a few moments, letting the engine run idle.

"The owner said that there's a lake about a mile west through the woods if we want to go check it out,"

Zuko nodded. "I didn't bring my life jacket,"

"You'll be fine,"

The two of them watched a woodpecker land on the side of the cabin and gave them an indifferent look before skittering off into the trees.

"Should we go in?" Zuko whispered.

"Yeah, probably," Jet sighed and rolled up the windows.

Zuko sure did pack light for a rich kid. A smidge of Jet's mind had expected that he would have to tell him to leave half of it behind, but Zuko barely packed enough to fill his suitcase. Most of his clothes had been touched or worn during the break-in. He had refused to touch them. Jet couldn't blame him.

They had made a pitstop in Syracuse at a Target for him to nonchalantly blow almost three hundred dollars on different clothes for the weekend, along with toiletries. Jet had bought a few things too, but Zuko's casualness with expenses had shined through at that moment, because the second that Jet's back was turned, he swiped his card and paid for it all. It hadn't escalated into an argument, because Jet was beginning to understand how little Zuko understood about paying for someone else.

The discussion had gone like this:

"Why didn't you let me pay for that?"

"You were too slow,"

"I can pay for my own stuff," he had huffed.

"I know you can," Zuko reassured, stuffing the bags into his suitcase. "If you really want to pay me back for a stick of deodorant and a pack of socks, go ahead, I guess,"

He slammed the trunk shut.

Jet thought about this while he hauled the bags into the cabin, dumping them in the foyer before walking straight back out.

Zuko had held the door open for him and was still outside; his neck craned back to look at the trees.

"I can't hear a single car," He whispered. Jet nodded.

There were some places like that in Afghanistan. Stretches of nothing but silence, just the murmur of wind on the sand. It had been pretty unnerving for a city boy.

"It'll take some getting used to," he reassured.

"How long are we going to be here?" He was still whispering as if the sound of his voice would break some spell, and the woods would descend into the chaos of Madison Square.

"A week, give or take. At least, that's what the cops told your work you would be gone for that long,"

"Where did they say we were going?"

"Florida, on vacation."

Zuko nodded sagely, eyes still locked on the boughs of the maple above. "I'd sooner cut off all of my hair than go any more southern than Delaware,"

Jet laughed.


	20. Little Creek Cabin

"You had like eight fireplaces in your parent's house, how do you not know how to start a fire? Just literally strike a match,"

"I don't know! I don't remember any of those fireplaces even being lit, let alone me starting them. And do we really the ambiance of a crackling fire?"

A petulant ' _ yes _ ' was ready and waiting on Jet's tongue, but he just shook his head no. Zuko was keeping it together pretty well, considering the stalker had threatened his life and had been in the house, touched his things, and hurt their dogs.

With a wrinkled nose, Zuko wandered around the small cabin. It was rustic like a magazine, everything that could be made of wood or plaid,  _ was _ .

Jet busied himself with checking all the windows and the door for any sign that they wouldn't keep out an intruder. Even though their ability to decorate the cabin was questionable, they knew how to secure a window lock. Everything was anchored down and robust, wrought iron fire pokers and heavy lamps begging to be thrown at the head of anyone that dared to break in.

The small bedroom cozied up next to a full bathroom held two full-sized beds and matching dressers. The duvets, too, held forest themes upon the plaid. Paintings of bubbling streams and mountainous overlooks adorned each wall, no matter the room.

Zuko stood in front of the fireplace still, throwing reproachable glances at the whitetail deer mounted above the mantle. The deer seemed to be giving him the same side-eye; both parties held suspicions.

"Are there any more animal corpses in the house?" he grimaced at the head before turning to Jet.

"There's uh, a turkey fan in the kitchen," He offered. Zuko nodded. "You don't like taxidermy?"

"Or killing animals,"

"You eat meat all the time,"

Zuko brushed him off as if his point was invalid. Jet sighed.

"Since I don't think anyone is going to deliver out this far, do you want fettuccine or hamburgers for supper?"

Zuko hummed as he wandered into the kitchen, sidling up to the stone counter across from Jet. His long, pale fingers cupped the side of his face, tapping a rhythm on his cheek. Jet caught himself staring at the simple movement, eyes darting to the pressed lips that stopped humming.

"When did you start cooking for me too?" He asked, deep voice rumbling, catching his pinkie finger between his teeth while watching Jet.

Jet rolled back on his heels, willing himself to not get more distracted by the innocent enough action.

"When I realized that you're probably goin' die of scurvy if you don't eat somethin' other than coffee and instant noodles," He responded with a half shrug, and it was right for the most part.

"Would you ever eat anything I would cook for you?" Zuko asked, voice still flippant as if he refused to commit to an emotion other than amused disinterest.

"Yes." Jet responded, without hesitation. It was mutually understood that whatever he would cook would be inedible and seventy percent cinders, but he was telling the truth.

"You'll have to teach me how to cook then so that we can put that to the test," He reached for a clay bowl from the counter. Carefully, he took out the wooden fruit and ordered them from largest to smallest, fastidiously measuring to make sure they were equidistant. Jet watched, gnawing on his bottom lip.

How was he supposed to ignore the way his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks or the way he tilted his head while he concentrated, exposing his long neck and baring his throat like that? They were going to be in the same house, in the same  _ bedroom _ for the next week together. There was no one there to distract him, no one to tell him that this is a bad idea. His self-control had brought him this far, but he wasn't sure how much farther it would tow him.

~0~

Dinner was delicious; that much could have been expected. Zuko had chosen the fettuccine, and he had even helped make it, even if it was just retrieving the ingredients from the fridge.

"Did you eat like this every day when you were young?" He questioned, and for once, he was actually eating the food instead of pushing around his plate.

"Pretty much, yeah. Most nights we ate downstairs in the restaurant with Mama and Papa, because we didn't close until nine at night."

Zuko nodded, carefully arranging the noodles on his fork before putting it in his mouth.

"You had a personal chef back at the house, didn't you?"

"Yes. But they didn't really care what we wanted, as long as it sounded fancy, father would eat it,"

"Do you think I would make a good personal chef?" Jet mused, knowing better than letting Zuko dwell on thoughts of his dad. That thought process never ended well.

"Yes," He sighed, taking another bite. "You sort of already are," he commented cheekily.

"Yeah," Jet snorted, "A personal chef that can  _ also _ kick some major ass,"

"I don't think I've ever seen you actually kick any ass," Zuko tapped his chin as if he had to recollect any event.

"That's because everyone is too scared to try me,"

Zuko laughed. "If I recall correctly, there was a rather handsome AT&T employee who was ready to knock your teeth in,"

" _ Todd? _ " Jet sneered, forgetting about his pasta for the moment. "He was a low-level dudebro who probably sleeps in his mom's basement. I wouldn't have hit him if he had begged,"

Zuko was smiling at him, the kind that made his eyes crinkle up and his face warm like sunshine.

Every ounce of jealousy and anger that had been there before vanished.

"Once upon a different life, I taught you how to throw a punch, didn't I?" He deflected his feelings like a pro.

"Oh god, I remember that," Zuko leaned back with the memory. "I had tried to kiss Ellis Worthington because you told me it was okay to be who I was, and he sucker-punched me. That was great advice, by the way," He added the last sentence snidely, a black eyebrow poised in accusation.

"How was I supposed to know that you'd listen to me?" Jet cried out, snatching back Zuko's plate. He was smugly satisfied to find that it was empty.

"If it makes you feel any better, I made out with him two years ago in a nightclub bathroom. He is a lot more stable in his personal life now; he even apologized for punching me," Zuko grinned.

"What a good guy," Jet mocked over his shoulder as he washed off their plates.

"Not really," Zuko sighed, sliding up on the counter next to Jet and accepted the plates as they were handed to him to dry. "But he was a fucking good kisser though," He stared off at the stove for a moment, lost in thought.

Jet carefully filtered through his jealousy as he fought back the urge to  _ want to  _ kiss Zuko in a nightclub bathroom. Was he sparing him more detailed information? Was there a nightclub bathroom that knew Zuko better than he did? That some asshole got to kiss him and didn't want anymore? That is probably what pissed him off the most. That someone could know how Zuko feels pressed up against them, and are perfectly fine with never touching him again.

He had only known it twice, and it drove him crazy. The first kiss lived in the back of his mind for four years, and the second still kept him awake at night sometimes.

Jet carefully cultivated all of that into a hearty chuckle.

"The best?"

Zuko stilled after setting the plate into the cupboard. He let out a mumbled, noncommital grunt paired with an equally half-hearted shrug.

"I wouldn't say the best," he muttered and slipped off the counter after putting the second plate away.

Jet bit his tongue in a massive feat of self-control as to  _ not ask  _ who he was referring too.

What an exciting week this would be.


	21. Miskwà Lake

"Ouch,  _ fuck _ ," Jet spat, walking away from the small rowboat while shaking out his hand.

"Black Mamba bite?" Zuko called out sarcastically from his perch on the swampy little beach.

Jet growled. "Well I thought it would be fun to take your miserable ass on a boat ride, but I think that boat is part of the mud now," He frowned at his pinched finger.

"My miserable ass likes being firmly on land, thank you," He didn't look up from the book that was resting on his knees.

"You know how to swim, right?" Jet squinted out at the lake. It was more of a marsh pond anyway, the edges overgrown with cattails and tall grass.

"My academy had a pool in it," Zuko nonchalantly flipped the page of his book. It wasn't his fault that he didn't understand how ridiculous that sentence sounded.

Jet nodded and glanced to the left to the small forest of cattails and made eye contact with arguably the most massive bullfrog he had ever seen. It was easily the size of a honeydew melon. Its wonky, crossed eyes somehow understood that he had found it, and it gave out an indignant ' _ ribbit.' _

Zuko startled, glancing around the pond for the noise. He was on his feet in an instant with a shrill squawk; finger extended at the  _ Shrek _ -Esque fiend.

"Christ, is that a  _ frog?"  _ He bellowed

"You know, I could call my mom and ask for her frog legs recipe," Jet thought out loud, trying to figure out which way the frog would leap if he were to go after it.

" _ No _ ," Zuko started shaking his head. "No, nope, no, not happening. He had a critical job guarding the lily pads against... whatever else lives in this swamp. We can't eat him," Even though he was defending the slimy creature, he was giving it a somewhat reproachful stink eye. The amphibian reciprocated in full.

"Fine," Jet didn't want to kill the frog anyway. How do you kill something so  _ impossible  _ as a bullfrog? It was most definitely a forest spirit of some kind, and Jet didn't have enough energy to anger any gods.

~0~

The water was too murky to even think about swimming in. Neither of them was bored enough to try their luck with what was floating under the surface. Jet hadn't had the foresight to bring fishing poles or even to learn how to fish.

It had been a bit of a journey to get Zuko out of the eye-sight of the cabin. He was convinced that the bear they saw on their way up had followed them the rest of the way. The whole time he was spouting this insane theory, he was backing it up with statistics about how fast bears can travel and how great their sense of smell was. He was perfectly content with spending this week securely confined in the cabin, sitting on the small patio in the back to watch the sun go down, and never venture out of running distance of the doors.

Jet was not as content with this stagnancy. The television only had the weather channel and something called ' _ Toddlers and Tiaras.' _ It was the worst and most confusing television show he had ever watched, and he was including the handful of times he had watched Iranian hand puppet shows when he was deployed.

He had paced the small rooms, dug through every cabinet and cupboard. He had snooped under the beds and went into the root cellar, a place that Zuko did  _ not _ go down into, but held the flashlight up at the top of the stairs for Jet anyway.

The kid had been even more quiet than usual. Before they had become friends, his silent stretches could last for weeks, but that didn't happen anymore. Jet figured that he was feeling guilty about all of this drama and fear, and he couldn't blame him for feeling like it. Obviously, Jet held no grudges against him for everything that had happened, but he could see how Zuko would think that such a thing was appropriate.

Jet still had the, now healed over, cut on his head, hidden by his hairline where his helmet had bitten into his skull. The bruises had faded into more of a shadow than anything else, but the tenderness was ever-present. The fact that he was the most aggravated and salty about was that his bike had to be sold for scrap because there was no saving it. He loved that bike, and there was nothing he could do to save it.

This was day two of their trip, and the detective had called once on the burner phone he had bought in Chinatown to update them on the case.

The stalker's DNA had been run through the databases, and it had come up dry, but now it was put into the system.

Jet had been reassured that all the stalker needed to do was slip up again, and they would get him.

And he would slip up again. No one that unstable can go too long without catching any eyes.

This was all relayed to Zuko in an unconcerned and worry-free way, casually spoken while Jet formed hamburger patties at the kitchen counter. He had accepted the information quietly and calmly, and he responded punctually when Jet asked him to open the sliding patio for him. He followed him out onto the patio and watched him grill the food, seemingly unruffled by the information. Jet heaved an internal sigh of relief.

The lake had been a unique experience in the oddest ways. As two bred and born New-Yorkers who spent most of their time in the city, the stagnant small Miskwà lake was nothing either had ever seen. It was swampy and dank, the trees were louder than they had ever heard a plant be, the animals not giving them a single care in the world.

They were simultaneously baffled and confused, disappointed, and overwhelmed.

"I think that the lake gave me a rash," Zuko frowned, scratching at his wrist.

"You didn't even go in the water," Jet glanced over at him from his station at the grill.

"No," he admitted, blunt nails picking at the reddened skin. "But I was close enough to it," he grumbled.

Jet rolled his eyes and set down his spatula. In three steps, he was next to Zuko's lawn chair, and he carefully grabbed his wrist.

"That," he turned his hand over, baring his wrist. He brought Zuko's hand closer to his face than was really necessary, letting his thumb slide over the soft skin of his forearm more times than what was strictly needed, "That is a mosquito bite, my friend. Not a rash,"

He grinned at a blushing Zuko.

"Oh," he whispered, not pulling away from his hand. Jet didn't make any moves to drop it either. He pretended like he was inspecting his hand for any further injury. "I've never had a mosquito bite get that big before," He commented, not disliking how cool Jet's hands were.

"This is Canada," Jet mused "The mosquito was probably the size of a Buick,"

Zuko snorted. "It's itchy,"

"Do you want me to kiss it, so it feels better?" Jet teased, fully prepared to kiss  _ anything _ Zuko asked him to.

His mouth popped open in surprise, staring at Jet incredulously.

Jet, in turn, was wearing the biggest shit-eating grin ever worn. His lips had barely made contact with his wrist before they heard it.

_ Sizzle. Pop. Pop. _

Both of their heads whip around to see the grill ablaze.

"Fuck!" Jet called out, launching himself away. "The burgers!"

It took two minutes of turning off burner flames and scraping beef off of the grill, but the fire got under control.

Zuko stood next to Jet during all of this, holding a bright red fire extinguisher, poised and ready to go.

Jet sighed down at the pile of smoldering hamburger he had unceremoniously piled onto a paper plate.

"How do pancakes sound?" He asked, to either the charcoal in his hand or to Zuko.

Zuko was the only one to respond. "They sound good,"

It took a fraction of a second of eye contact for both of them to erupt in laughter. It was the best kind that has you doubling over with tears threatening to leak out of your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter for a while, and a while means anywhere for a day to a week. I had the next chapter ready, but it doesn't feel right, so I'll be rewriting it or completely scrapping it. Then, after the next chapter, there are only two more preplanned chapters after it, then I'll be back to writing chapters from scratch instead of editing them. I have no idea how often I will post new chapters because I have a few different works going on right now. I keep writing new things under the impression that no one is going to read them, and then people do and I want to write more for them. Good thing I'm unemployed during the quarantine, now I have all the time in the world to write. If anyone has any chapter ideas or things they would think would be cute or LITERALLY anything at all they want to happen, tell me. I don't care if it's stupid or if it's a simple sentence of conversation you want to be thrown in. I will be open to any and all suggestions from here on out. I also don't know how to end the story. Not a clue.   
> The rating will change to explicit soon, no worries.


	22. Ontario Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't made the connection already, this fic is named after the Florence and the Machine song 'Only if for a night"  
> There are a few hints of that song in this chapter, sprinkled in lyrics.  
> I am a hopeless nerd, thank you for noticing.

**A possible [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7q-4mfl_s4) for ambiance**

Jet had a distinct memory of Zuko sleeping in so late that he didn't stumble out of his room until almost six at night. It wasn't that uncommon, especially for this particular teenager, but now that he wasn't really a kid anymore, he was awake at the crack of dawn.

As soon as the sun even threatened to wash over the horizon, Zuko was out of bed and in the shower before silently slipping outside.

It was day three, and it was the first time that Jet had woke up when Zuko slipped out of the bedroom, the dusty haze of dawn filling the air.

Feet silent and precise, the younger man trod across the kitchen into the living room and slid open the glass door.

Sighing into the warmth of the blankets, Jet rolled out of bed. It wasn't as lumpy as he had expected, and after sleeping on Zuko's couch for a few weeks, it was heaven.

He wasn't quite as light on his feet as Zuko, but he was pretty damn stealthy as he slinked after him.

The Ontario morning air lapped into the room, pooling around Jet's ankles from the cracked open door. The view of the trees was gorgeous, every impossible shade of green, fog twisting and laced around the trunks and leaves, settling into the boughs like a gentle touch.

Frogs grated their raspy song, crickets adding their own tune, and the birds had been awake for hours, an unusually large mourning dove cried out its hollow sound.

Zuko stood on the small patio, standing with his legs wide, palms pressed together in front of him, heavy eyes on the sunrise.

The Blue Spirit tattoo grinned a snarl at Jet from the center of his back, tusks gleaming.

Slowly, he pulled all his limbs together then stretched out his leg, arm going out straight after. He never stood still for more than a second, body moving steady and strong like a flame.

Jet no longer pretended that he was _just_ checking on him, he leaned against the door jam and watched, arms crossed over his chest to fight the cold. Zuko's eyes closed, pale body seemingly unaffected by the cold and moving in the glow of the dawn, his breath visible in the cold morning, tendrils curling from his nose like smoke.

The tai chi movements were peaceful and powerful, rolling into the sparkling air and gathering the energy that spun lazily in the dew slicked grass.

It tugged at something deep in Jet's stomach, at the longing that had burrowed so far that it seeped into his spine. He wanted so badly it stung as if it was raw. He had been wanting for a long time, wanting to feel normal at war, to feel natural at home, to dream of anything but sand and sweat, to rid of the jaggedness of being alone.

It startled him when he caught his reflection in the glass door, hair wild and face dripping with yearning. It would have been less alarming if it had been tears, they could be wiped away. You can't neatly disguise a feeling with a discreet tissue. He could handle crying; he couldn't handly wanting something so badly it was eating his stomach.

It was Zuko.

He wanted Zuko.

It was awful and disgruntling and so breathlessly relieving to recognize it finally.

The _want_ starved in his stomach, reaching out for all that it craved. It ached for Zuko's stability, it licked its maw at the thought of the new serenity that flickered in him would feel against its tongue, for the controlled yet rapacious power that had settled in Zuko's eyes and the set of his shoulders, it's palms itched at the thought of running needy fingers over the smooth lines of muscle that adorned his body, to see if the Blue Spirit bit back. The _want_ was hungry and greedy and had been without for so long that it would be satisfied with anything. Like when their shoulders bumped together when they walked, or the astounding volume of Zuko's laugh, or merely looking at the long line of his pale throat, or the blazing spark in his eyes, or how the world didn't feel so impossible when he was near. The _want_ never chased away ideas of the future, a secretly dangerous fantasy of staying forever, not in a location but in the company of a living flame.

Ill-conceived words formed on his illiterate tongue, fists curling and unclenching at the absurdity of all of this, manic laughter caught on the lump in his throat, and he begged for the feeling to swallow him whole so there'd be nothing left.

~0~

"I thought you knew how to fight?" Zuko teased, knocking Jet's arm down lower, eyes scanning his stance.

"I thought you said that this would be fun," Jet grunted in agitation, both of them knowing that he wouldn't walk away.

"Master Jeong Jeong would have hit you by now," Zuko commented, nodding to himself in satisfaction at Jet's position.

"This is not what I had in mind when you said you wanted to spar," Jet rolled his eyes, not disliking having Zuko's undivided attention. He wobbled on one leg.

"I don't wrestle," Zuko clarified, the crisp afternoon air meant nothing to him, the baggy shorts and tank-top suiting him just fine.

"You are absolutely no fun. Look at me, what did you call this?"

"The crane pose,"

"I am standin' in the crane pose because you said please all nice and pretty, so how is this entertainin' for the both of us?" he overcorrected his balance and almost fell.

"I am fun," Zuko warned.

"The funnest," Jet agreed, ignoring the salty look he was given as he put his other foot on the ground.

"That is not a word,"

"I don't care,"

Jet hardly dodged the punch that was thrown at his face, ducking just in time to feel it whiz over his head.

"Now we're talkin'," He grinned, bobbing against another blow.

Zuko fought ruthlessly, every movement quick and precise, Jet focusing mostly on evasion instead of offense, each strike getting closer to landing on him.

Jet caught Zuko's wrist, and in one fluid movement, Zuko twisted his way out of it, his foot snaking out and wrapped around Jet's ankle, snagging out of from underneath him.

The ground was a lot harder under his ass than his feet.

Before Zuko could apologize or even open his mouth, Jet was on his feet, barrelling towards Zuko. Jet hadn't been trained by masters, just by his peers and the unforgiving hand of the marines. What he lacked in talent, he made up for in strength.

Zuko was surprisingly light as Jet threw him over his shoulder, the gasp from the brute show of strength audible in his ear as Zuko scrambled against his body.

Jet waited two seconds for fists to rain on his back, for the indignant squawking to start up, but he was the one that fucked up the second he felt every well-trained muscle in Zuko's body tense at once.

In a whirl of legs and twists, Jet and Zuko were on the ground, Zuko's legs wrapped around Jet's chest, pinning him.

"Oh," Jet wheezed, arms unable to move because of the pressure crushing him. Zuko smirked and let go, dropping back against the grass, chest heaving.

"I had you there for a second," Jet coughed, sitting up but not moving. Zuko's knee was still brushing against the back of his shirt. "Don't deny it,"

"One second," Zuko ground out, "Just for one second,"

"Betcha your fancy masters taught you what to do when someone comes at you like that," he smirked.

"No, I was never educated on the strategy of 'running full steam at your opponent and bear-hugging them,'"

"I'll have to teach it to you sometime,"

Zuko huffed out a laugh. His shirt rode up on his stomach when he had collapsed into the grass, giving Jet the perfect view of the cut of his hips and the rise and fall of his breath.

The rest of the afternoon went like that, both of them too competitive for their own good, fists and feet flying.

Where Zuko was quick and calculated, Jet was shockingly strong and sporadic, the smirk on his lips never giving him away. Zuko vowed never to play poker with him. No one should have a half-smile on their face while someone was trying to punch them in the face.

Sometime during their ninth or tenth rematch, it started raining. The morning had been so beautiful that neither of them realized how quickly the weather could turn in the forest.

It was nothing more than a sticky drizzle, fusing their eyelashes together and making their grip on each other more tenuous.

Zuko stumbled under Jet's hands that were clamped on his arms, his knee coming up and connecting his ribs. Jet grunted but didn't let go, trying to get Zuko's legs from underneath him. He bucked against him, twisting in his grasp in what would have been an impressive and effective move, but the rain had to add its own spin on things.

The grass under their feet had become slick under their sliding bare feet, and Zuko went down hard.

Jet landed on top of him, scarcely able to catch himself on his elbows so he wouldn't crush him under his weight. 

Zuko's breath hissed out of him as he hit the ground with his back, and it washed against Jet's rain-soaked throat. He hadn't realized how cold and wet he was until the boiling hot, heaving line of Zuko's body pressed against his own. Hovering was hardly sufficient enough to describe his position over the other; he just wasn't layin full on top of him.

"Did you hit your head?" he asked instead of getting off him.

"No, but I feel like I fell off a building,"

"We should have stayed inside and played poker," he mused, enjoying the fact that Zuko wasn't trying to wriggle to get away from him.

"That's the only game you can beat me at," Zuko had caught his breath, but his cheeks were rosy. The rain sizzled against his skin.

Jet could feel every one of Zuko's heartbeats pound against his chest, and where he had landed between Zuko's knees, they opened a bit farther.

"The only game?" Jet questioned, so close to his face that it made his body hum. "Because I think I just knocked you on your ass fair and square,"

"It was the rain, no fault of your own," Zuko snapped back without the venom, the fire in his eyes was a warming hearth.

"I only won because of the rain?" Jet couldn't fight the smile or the soaring in his chest. The ground was freezing, and the sky was darkening, the rain coming down harder. Yet, all he could feel was the unwavering pulse hammering away under his body.

_This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea._

Then why the fuck did it make him feel so good?

"I'm willing to bet money on it," Zuko whispered, his breath washing over Jet's face. The feeling almost had him growling.

"I'll bet on it too," he whispered back and wondered why he was already panting. As he spoke, his lips brushed against Zuko's cheek, and Jet felt him shiver even though he felt almost fevered. He was selfishly satisfied that he had the same effect on him that he always had on Jet.

"For or against?" Zuko's breath hitched in his chest, but he kept perfectly still, and he felt slightly betrayed by his body that was reacting to Jet without his mind's permission.

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. He, too, was holding perfectly still, waiting for an adverse reaction from Zuko, but was consistently finding none.

This was unbearable, wavering so close to each other. Close enough that Jet could feel the heat radiating off of Zuko's body, and Zuko could smell the shampoo in his hair, both of them hearing the accelerated breathing of want and the urge to close the minuscule distance.

"What are you waiting for?" Zuko whispered, heart thundering in his chest when Jet's knees nudged Zuko's father apart. It was such a small movement; he only felt it because it sent lightening up his spine, and it startled the breath from his lungs.

"For you to push me away and say no," his lips moved against his burned cheek, the rumble in his chest was felt by Zuko.

"And if I _don't_ say no?"

Jet sighed, dangerously close to a growl, nose pressed up against the side of Zuko's.

"Jet?" he murmured.

"Hmm?" it was hard to say words at this point, simple noises would have to work.

"Yes."

If he wanted to add to that sentence, he couldn't have.

That want that had almost crippled Jet earlier that morning blazed to life, lit by the fire of Zuko's lips. He tasted like apples and Ontario rain, all the aggression and heat from their fight simmered out of his long, lithe limbs, not entirely submitting into the grass, but settling. 

Zuko's hands were put to work, holding on to Jet's face, tangling his long finger's into wild hair, reveling in the feeling of Jet's rumbling growl that vibrated into his body where their chests pressed together.

A powerful hand curled under Zuko's body, a firm palm pressing into the small of his back, lifting him closer yet, his talented mouth driving Zuko to complete and total distraction.

Zuko's mind went null for a second when Jet's teeth grazed the side of his neck while his hand coasted up the back of his shirt. Zuko always had the problem of too many thoughts slamming around on the inside of his head at all hours of the day in every situation, so it was unnerving to have two seconds of completely _no thoughts_ but the galvanizing feeling of Jet's touch.

He couldn't articulate words, so he let it out on an unsteady breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

**_CRACK!_ **

The sky split in half, the strong veins of lightening spreading out into the darkened sky, showing the rolling black thunderheads seething above them.

Rapturous thunder followed not two seconds after the awesome display of might, loud enough to rattle Jet's teeth.

The rain coming down in sheets made it almost impossible to walk straight, their bare feet slipping and sliding as they scrambled to the patio, hardly able to breathe on account of how hard they were laughing. The pitiful squeal of the sliding glass door was no match for the clapping thunder that boomed, shaking the foundation of the house.

Dripping puddles onto the hardwood, both boys stared in uncontained awe of the holy rite of the sky.

"We're not going to get sucked up by a tornado, are we?" Zuko whispered.

"No?" Jet whispered back.

Zuko seemed unconvinced.

The wind roared, and the thunder crashed and the lightening and did cartwheels in their honor, its own secret ceremonial.

Tentatively, so shy it almost hurt, warm fingers brushed against Jet's hand, and he quickly pressed back against the touch.

Validation he didn't even know he needed flooded his body. They were going to acknowledge it this time, no more dancing on tiptoes around the fact that they kissed, three times now, and that it was taking over their minds.

"I'm going to go change. I fell like a half-drowned rat," Zuko whispered, pinkie laced with Jet's.

"But a cute rat," Jet offered, throwing him a glance. His hair was plastered to his face with rainwater, drops of it sliding down into the hollow of his throat and under his clothes. It was harder to pull his eyes away from the view than he thought it would be.

Zuko grunted, cheeks pink. 

Supper was pulled together in minutes; Jet didn't mind that he was still soaked to the bone, he'd let Zuko change in the bedroom first. He hated using store-bought spaghetti sauce, and he felt better not knowing the ingredients to the meatballs, but he couldn't realistically pack twenty pounds of fresh ingredients while they were hiding from a stalker, and he made his peace with it. Zuko would have been more than happy just to buy a case of instant noodles and coffee, but Jet reminded him that well-adjusted adults eat at least one vegetable a week. It had earned him a grumbled eye roll, but he relented.

Quietly padding feet had Jet glancing up from where he was watching the water boil, fingers trying to fluff up his rained on head.

"Are you wearing my shirt?" Jet frowned as Zuko walked out of the hall that led to the bed and bathroom.et

"What? I thought that this was one of the shirts that I bought at that outlet store," He turned a wild shade of red as he pulled on the hem that went down past his butt, glancing at the print on the front. It was nothing special; it just said ' _Metallica_ ' in faded gray print

"No, no, it's fine. Actually, I kind of like it," He smirked at Zuko, whose blush still roared across his cheeks. It was deliciously easy to cause the redness.

~0~


	23. After Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the moment we've been waiting for: for the rating to change to be rated E. For explicit.  
> I do have a confession to make, I never thought that this particular story would ever be on this website because it was an original story with all original characters, it wouldn't have belonged here. So, if you have read my other work, called 'Until the Sun Rises', you will be familiar with this chapter because I used it in that fic.  
> OBVIOUSLY! Names and details are different because though I am lazy, I'm not that lazy.  
> But, there will be more original content like this chapter, later on, so don't get too angry at me.  
> Danke.

"Will you stop floppin' like a dyin' fish, please? I wanna go to sleep," Jet chastised after Zuko tossed over for the seventh time in five minutes.

"Sorry. I have a hard time sleeping in new places," he grumbled back, burrowing under the covers deeper only to kick them off almost immediately after.

"I'm going to sit on you if you don't hold still," Jet growled.

"Looks like going to a different country didn't outrun my insomnia," he joked dryly, sitting up.

"How much sleep do you get in a week? Be honest," Jet didn't sit up too but watched him as he scrubbed a hand through his wild hair.

"Maybe like, sixteen hours a week, if I'm lucky."

"Jesus, kid. How do you hold down a full-time job?" Jet marveled.

"I have fantastic hair. They can't fire me. It would be a sin," he sighed.

Jet fought the chuckle but lost.

~0~

Jet was never one to struggle to fall asleep anywhere; he didn't have to be lying down. He dozed in and out of consciousness for an hour. They had alarms and cameras and buzzers all over the cabin to let them know if anything walked through the doors or windows. He sort of hoped that there weren't mice because the system was so sensitive that it might trigger the sensors if a wayward rodent was to scamper too zealously across the kitchen. Even with all these precautions, his mind wouldn't let him sleep any more in-depth than a snooze.

So when Zuko got out of bed and padded his feet quietly across the room and stood at the side of Jet's bed and deliberated for a few seconds, he was wide awake but kept his eyes closed. He was curious about what was going to happen.

Zuko stopped his nervous fidgeting and seemed to steel himself before climbing under the covers.

Okay, so that is  _ not _ what he thought was going to happen.

His warm body wormed under as quietly as he could, laying like a ramrod on the precipice, a millimeter away from the edge.

He was acting like a dog that knew he wasn't allowed on the bed but couldn't help himself, so he was ready to jump off at the sound of trouble.

"What are you, doin'?" Jet asked, amused. Even in the limited light, he could see how the blush that was traveling at furious speeds across Zuko's face.

"I can't sleep," he mumbled, pulling the covers tighter up against his neck, hiding his face.

"You can't fall asleep," Jet repeated, rolling on his side to face him. He wasn't getting up. This was going to be too much fun.

"No," he squeaked.

"Last time you couldn't sleep, you called me from across the ocean during a war, and now you're crawling into bed with me? Do you like me or somethin'?" He teased.

Zuko started to slip out of bed to hide in his own, but Jet caught his wrist, laughing.

"I'm kiddin'; you can stay," Not entirely sure he had meant it until it came out of his mouth, but he didn't want to pull the words back in.

"Maybe a little bit," Zuko said gently after a moment of silence. Jet kept his fingers laced around his wrist.

"What?"

"Maybe I like you a little bit," Zuko sighed.

Jet grinned and scooted closer, close enough that he slid his leg between Zuko's. The way that he inhaled flipped his stomach.

"Just a little?"

"Don't make me get up," He threatened, but made no move to walk away.

"I'd catch you anyway," He pulled Zuko's hand up closer to his face so he could kiss his wrist.

Zuko followed the motion with parted lips and wide eyes.

"I'd let you," he breathed out.

Zuko tasted sharp like mint toothpaste, and his hands were hot where they settled on Jet's shoulders, branding him. A brave tongue peeked out from behind rose lips and carefully ran across the seam of Jet's mouth. They laid side by side, bodies impatiently waiting for the right moment to come together.

"You're eager," Jet commented, fingers lazily tapping at the hollow of Zuko's throat, making his heart erratic at the casualness of the action.

"It's not every night I have you in bed, Jet," Zuko replied, running his hands over his shoulders and settling nicely on the back of his neck, ready to take a handful of hair when needed. And there would be a need for that, rest assured.

"You're many things, Zuko," Jet teased, tracing the cut of Zuko's jaw with his nose, words murmured against his fevered skin. It took every ounce of Zuko's self-control not to squirm. There was no helping him when that control broke, though.

"But of all the things you are, I never thought you'd be a thief, and a bad one at that," His chest was pressed solidly against Zuko's now, the deep rumble of his voice vibrated against him, and he couldn't think of anything better. He spoke the words so close to Zuko's ear that goosebumps erupted all over his body, eliciting an unwanted shiver.

"What do you mean?" he questioned. "I haven't stolen anything,"

Jet stilled, and Zuko mentally kicked himself. He didn't know what he said wrong, but it had been something.

"What did you say?" He pulled far enough back that he could see Zuko's face, even though it was dark in the cozy room. The pale blue light from the moon bathed him with a layer of ethereal that Zuko has never seen before.

"Uhm, that I haven't stolen anything?" He choked out, face hot. He wasn't going to hide, though, not when he was lying where he was.

"Is that so? Well, I've changed my mind, I want my shirt back,"

Zuko stared up at him; mouth popped open.

"Now, please. And close your mouth, you never know what might get in there when you keep it open," though Jet's words were commanding, his cheeks filled with color.

It was one of Jet's better-kept secrets, really. The personality he used around other people called for him to be controlling and dominant, aloof, and indifferent at all times. But it wasn't him, not really.

He hasn't been reduced to flustered blushing and butterfly assaults in his stomach since he was in his twenties. Now, there was one of the most beautiful human beings he had ever met wearing  _ his _ _ clothes _ ; delicious pink lips parted leading to a glistening mouth, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and heavy golden eyes.  _ And my god, he looked just as hungry. _

Zuko sat up slowly, the sheet pooling at his waist. In one fluid, drawn-out movement, he pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to Jet.

Jet's mouth went cotton dry.

He wasn't scarred up from a childhood playing on sidewalks and basketball courts. There was no healed up keloid mark on his back from where he got shot with a pellet gun by the neighbor kid. No cooking burns on his wrists, no jut of uneven bone tented under his flesh where a rib had set wrong, no skinned elbows that Jet somehow managed to have even when he was Zuko's age, not even a bruise on his body, just the mark on his face.

Miles of smooth, pale skin, Jet wanted to touch so bad it almost hurt.

"Here," He dropped the crumpled shirt onto Jet's chest, running his hands over his now bare arms as they met the cold air.

"I didn't think your generosity would fail you so quickly," Zuko commented, still sitting up.

Jet formed words with his mouth, but he couldn't carry on this menial conversation, even though on most days, he found himself capable of talking with Zuko for hours about nothing at all. But he had nothing to say that his tongue could articulate, his vocabulary was too small to cover the big feeling in his chest that propelled his arm up and out. His warm, rough palm rested gently on Zuko's lower back. If they were strangers, this is where Jet would touch if he were trying to get past him, so it seemed like an innocent enough location to begin. His hand was dark against his satin skin, too harsh and beat to truly belong handling a porcelain doll. He moved his thumb back and forth as gently as he could.

Zuko shivered, goosebumps erupted up the lumps of his spine, tightening the skin under his touch.

Jet wanted this, everything about it, especially the words, telling him that this wasn't wrong or bad, that he wasn't alone in the heat that gobbled up his body and craved the weight of Zuko's body on top of his own.

"You have to tell me why you didn't want to sleep on the other bed and be honest. I can't just sit here until you tell me, I need to know,"

Zuko knew what he was really asking, and he sighed. It took a gust of courage and a pinch of reckless abandon to get the words out, not to mention squeezing his eyes shut.

"Because I wanted to be  _ here, _ with you." It was simple; Zuko was not one for long, drawn-out speeches about feelings or motives. While some had a gift for lengthening sentences to convey, Zuko was in the department of blunt, bittersweet deliverance of information.

He turned his head and rested his chin on his naked shoulder, cheeks pink. "Was that a good enough answer?"

"Well, it was for me,"

Zuko nodded and slowly laid back down; Jet's hand still tucked away nicely in the small of his back.

He left the blankets at his waist, long, pale torso on display. A sweet hum began in his lower stomach, hungry.

"Can you say that again?" Jet's mouth hovered over Zuko's neck, waiting for the dinner bell to be rung. His pulse sang under his tongue.

"I wanted you here, with me-" he shivered as lips met his skin, Jet's tongue loving the cut of his jaw and the hollow of his throat,

"I want you." He exhaled, dangerously close to a moan.

It was the most delicious thing Jet had ever heard.

Jet devoured him.

He put on a good show of being a ladies man, but Jet could count on two hands the number of people he had sprawled out like a canvas beneath him.

They had kissed before, Jet had stood between Zuko's legs weeks ago and wondered what the rest of him tasted like, and the thunderstorm had been a prelude to this moment.

But this was fantastically different.

Zuko's hands roamed Jet's body like a musician learning a new instrument. As their mouths got to know each other better, teeth and tongues and lips, Zuko's nimble fingers gathered the hem of Jet's shirt and slid it up his back.

"Off," he sighed against his lips, the bodyguard complying by sitting upon his knees, and shucking the shirt off, tossing it into a dark corner of the room, forgotten.

Unlike Zuko, whose body was unblemished from years of indoor life, Jet was a roadmap of every indiscretion he ever lived through.

Zuko's piano fingers loved each faded bruise and old scar, found each mark on his body that hadn't healed right, and said not a word.

He also found a genuinely awful tattoo on his left pectoral. He stopped his touches and squinted at it.

"Is that the Geico lizard smoking a cigar?" Tracing his finger over the faded tat, he glanced up at Jet.

"I was stationed in North Carolina, and I was drunk. Don't you have any drunk tattoos?" He teased, waiting for a flustered response of  _ 'Only the Blue Spirit!' _ But what he got was better.

"You'll have to find them if I do," Zuko replied, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks that were flushed a rosy pink.

"Is that a challenge?" Jet could hardly breathe with those eyes on him like that.

"More of an invitation,"

It had been about five years since someone had been wrapped around him so tightly, fingers woven deep in his hair, legs circling his hips, mouth exhaling noises that made his blood run hot in his veins.

Zuko was a change from what he had before. It has always been a soft body with curves, long hair that got tangled around his fingers, and painted fingernails trailing up his spine.

He had never before pressed a hard body into a mattress, a person without much give and no curves, blunt fingertips biting into his shoulder and something hot and stiff against  _ his _ thigh, not the other way around.

As Zuko ran his fingers through his hair and sighed softly into his mouth while Jet traced his lips with his tongue, he waited for the disgust to come tumbling through his body like half of his conscious brain thought it would. Jet ten years ago, hell,  _ five  _ years ago, would have balked at the thought of shamelessly kissing another man, eagerly swallowing up his quiet noises and loving the feeling of his back under his fingertips. But there was nothing, just the shivering ache of what was to come.

There were no condoms in the bedside drawer. Zuko had checked. He hadn't had the foresight to pack some, and he couldn't make himself ask Jet if he had brought any. Though the bodyguard was thoroughly enjoying himself, he could feel as much; he was scared that what was happening was a fragile little bubble they were in, and asking for such a thing would shatter it like a wine glass on concrete. That would make it real. It would make all of this real, every kiss and touch and lingering stare.

"What?" Jet asked, teeth dangerously close to biting his chest. Zuko's stomach danced at the thought.

'Huh?" He gasped out, not able to look away.

"I just lost you for a second, where'd you go? Am I going too fast?" He frowned, his body flushed and bathed in pale moonlight coming in through a crack in the shades. Just looking at him made Zuko's throat dry. He wasn't shaped like a swimsuit model; he was built like someone who owed every ounce of muscle they had to working with their hands and living in environments where they worked hard manual labor.

Zuko supposed it was the only good thing that came out of the war.

"I was uhm...actually thinking the same thing. That maybe I was going too fast for you..." Zuko cracked an awkward smile, as shy as he could get with a part of his body that was not shy in the slightest, straining out to touch him.

Jet sat back on his haunches; head cocked as he surveyed the person before him. Zuko's hair was wild from greedy fingers trying to take root in it; his pale skin was marked up with purpling bites and hard marked kisses. But his eyes, nothing could make his heart beat faster. Savage and gleaming with what he was sure could be seen in his own, but Zuko was still in there, always evaluating and calculating things at speeds that Jet could never comprehend.

Jet licked his lips, and Zuko's breath hitched in his chest as he watched, no other choice but with eyes wide.

"I think we're going at a pace that will take us exactly where we want to go," he trailed his palms over his knees and up to his thighs, all while a shivering Zuko watched until his fingers curled at his hips. "Don't you think, Zuko?" He asked, sincerely.

His skin was so hot as if he had stepped out of a fire before l next to him. Jet's thumbs stroked the cut of his stomach, and Zuko felt himself shallowly surging up.

"I think if we go any slower, I very well might scream." He responded, voice strangled and rough.

He recognized his questionable choice of wording as Jet's smile turned downright wicked.

"I think you've got it mixed up Zuko," he purred, callused hands tightening on his hips, and in one solid, strong motion, Zuko's entire body had slid a foot and a half down, his ass colliding with Jet's thighs. He let out a soft surprised noise that made his neck and face flush deeper, but Jet was hovering over him, hot breath on his neck and in his ear as he whispered, "I'll make you scream, no matter how slow we go,"

_ Oh fuck. _

"Prove it then, take off my pants," Zuko's fevered hands smoothed over his dark skin, fingernails trailing up and down his back, Jet growled against his throat, vibrating his whole body.

Warm, calloused hands rested on his waist, long fingers curling around the elastic of his basketball shorts. Zuko lifted up his hips, and Jet slid them down past his thighs and off his body entirely. Though this was happening all under the blankets, a streak of nerves shot through the both of them.

Jet had a higher body count, but Zuko was the only one who's ever slept with a man before.

"See? Not bad," Zuko teased, which was hard to do when you're lying naked under someone who was going to devour you.

Jet lowered himself down until his chest was brushing against Zuko's, pressing him into the bed with his whole body. "No, not bad. Nothin' 'bout you is bad, Zuko."

Jet swallowed the soft moans Zuko exhaled. Zuko's parted legs grew curious and brave, bored with just laying splayed; they traveled up until they looped around Jet's waist.

"Why are you still wearing shorts?" Zuko panted, grinding himself up against Jet.

"Fuck," he growled, face buried in Zuko's neck as he involuntarily thrust back.

Something witty wanted to leave Zuko's mouth, but the feeling of Jet surging up against him, the way he didn't slam into him but swept him up into it like an ocean wave, it made every nerve in his body squirm and bask in the heat. It was exciting like he hadn't felt with anyone else.

They danced on the edge of something beautiful and something terrible, but right then, they were the only two left in the world.

Jet opened his mouth to apologize, but Zuko beat him to it. "The word sorry is not allowed in this room. If you say it once, I'll only let you watch for the rest of the night, not touch."

He had a dozen threats lurking his head, but not letting Jet touch him felt like the cruelest thing he could say.

"Deal," he ground out, teeth dragging on the side of Zuko's neck as he slowly sat up.

It was too dark to tell exactly what he was doing, but Zuko heard him shuffle for a second, then the soft sound of his pajama pants hitting the floor.

The realness of the situation struck them both as he hovered over Zuko, now that both of them were naked. Jet was on his hands and knees, palms on either side of Zuko's head, knees between Zuko's. He didn't want to say that he didn't know what he was doing, that if he weren't a man, he would be in his element. Though he didn't breathe a word of that out loud, Zuko seemed to understand all of it. With his left hand, Zuko cupped his face and kissed him gently, so sweet it made him hungry.

Slowly, he wrapped his legs around his lower back, bringing their bodies together. The noise that Jet made had Zuko grinning. It was caught between his name and a cuss, a moan and a growl and it settled over Zuko's body like a weighted blanket, giving him courage. He craved to know what other sounds he could make him utter.

Zuko was hot, everything about him was burning and boiling and sweltering, his lips on Jet's mouth, his hands by his shoulders, the delicious heat of their bodies touching but not yet moving, holding perfectly still.

A brave hand slid between their bodies, loving the way Jet's body shivered at the touch. He still had yet to move, on his hands and knees, hovering over Zuko, scared that the already burning coil around his spine would ruin the fun too early if he moved.

As Zuko wrapped his fingers around him, a clear and growling  _ "Fuck," _ was said against his shoulder as his head dropped to it.

"Yes, Jet," Zuko whispered back, sliding his curled hand up and down, tortuously slow. "I'm working on it,"

Jet chuffed out half a laugh against his skin.

Zuko pressed himself tighter against him and slowly started shallowly thrusting his hips.

Neither was ready for anything more  _ in-depth _ that night, supplies and bravery were lacking in that department. But that didn't stop them from this tangled sheet masterpiece of messy kisses and sharp gasps as they slid against each other, rolling their hips against each other's, reveling in the wash of feeling that splashed over them with each movement. Feeling Jet's lips moving in random patterns and hearing panted Spanish in his ear, Zuko felt the need to raise questions.

"Are you praying?" Zuko asked, and in Jet's opinion, he had no business looking the way he did. Pale body flushed, hair wild and eyes gleaming, with each soft snap of Jet's hips, his whole body rocked with him, sliding him up and down on the white sheets.

"Yes," he whispered, knowing anything louder would have come out a groan.

"Why?" He marveled, lip catching between his teeth as Jet changed their position. No longer where his legs around the marine's waist, but flat on the bed, spread wide while he shamelessly rutted against him. He slid a rough hand under Zuko's lower back and changed the angle of his hips, an action that elicited a low moan from his clenched jaw.

"I'm apologizin',"

"For what?"

"Whoever changes these sheets is gonna need a raise,"

Zuko laughed until Jet swallowed the sound, crushing their mouths together, his body never ceasing to move.

It had been too long for Jet, and he knew it would cut his ministrations shorter than he wanted, but from the glassy eyes, open-mouthed panting happening from Zuko underneath him, he knew his end would be a shared thing.

Zuko's hands scoured his body, finding a spot on the backs of his thighs, pulling Jet against faster and harder.

He fought with himself for a second, but for reasons, he never thought.  _ Do I kiss him or watch his face? _

He pulled far enough away from Zuko's face to get a good look at it, and just watching his face almost pushed him over the edge. Eyes barely shut and fluttering with every thrust, head tilted back and mouth open.

Balancing on the one hand, he slipped the other between their feverish bodies and curled his fingers around both of them.

With his newfound grip, he snapped his hips against Zuko's, letting him set the pace with his hands at the backs of his thighs, fingers biting his flesh in a way that only felt good right then.

From the way he pushed and pulled, Jet thought for a fleeting second that he might not be able to keep up with him, but Zuko didn't seem to notice.

The moans coming out of him were pretty much just a continuous, a low hum that bounced with every surge against him.

Jet heard his name leave his lips twice, once as a warning and the other significantly louder. Zuko's back arched, hands abandoning his legs and holding on to Jet's shoulders as he cried out gruffly, hardly above a whisper.

Jet was right for wanting to watch. It was art if he ever saw it.

Hearing his name gasping on Zuko's breath did him in. He shuddered long and hard, riding out the tremendous waves with slow hips and murmured words.

He collapsed on the bed, not all of him missing Zuko, his shoulder coming to rest atop his.

Both of them rolled over to face each other, bodies intertwined, and eyes locked. They floated in their little bliss bubble for a few minutes before Zuko finally whispered, "Hello,"

"Hey," Jet grinned, slow and lazy.

"I'm sticky," Zuko observed.

"Huh, wonder why,"

Zuko dreamily ran his fingers through Jet's hair, so uncharacteristically affectionate that it was melting Jet's heart.

"You don't remember?" he teased "Do you want an exact scribe of what happened? Every sultry detail?"

"Of course," he purred. Zuko squirmed out of his hold and pulled back the covers to get out.

"Then," He leaned over Jet's reclined position and, in one quick movement, licked his stomach from navel all the way downward. "Write one yourself," he grinned as Jet jerked against his touch.

He didn't bother with pants before walking to the bathroom.

For one selfish, despicable minute, Jet was thankful that they had been driven to Canada. As the shower started and he was too spent to even move, he allowed himself one minute to enjoy the way everything had played out, leading up until this moment, this finalizing knot in the frayed rope it had all been.

They very well can't ignore each other now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh? how was it?  
> I sorta hate that I wrote this and that you read it, but I hope that you didn't hate it.


	24. Six Years Earlier

** Six Years Earlier **

Jet wasn't the only bodyguard in the room, and it didn't make him feel very secure. They have all dressed the same, black suits, earpieces, the whole bit. Jet wondered if clients would feel as safe if he showed up in jeans and a jacket. Probably not.

The Agni family had deemed themselves important enough to feel the need to have two security guards, so Jet shrugged off the nervousness of having to deal with other bodyguards and their, no doubt shitty, methods.

He went to the back of the massive theatre to find Zuko.

It wouldn't come as a shock to literally anyone to find out that Zuko played an instrument at a damn near-professional level. He could play the piano like a dream, but his true talent laid with the violin. He had been participating in recitals a decade before Jet came to work for the family, receiving lessons from a tiny Italian man once a week, every week, for years.

Zuko wasn't the only person performing that night; Jet had to weave his way through so many kids, so similar to Zuko that Jet wondered if he would find him. They were all deathly quiet, except for the jumbled noise of all of them playing their instrument at the same time. Fifty percent wore glasses, all of them had the same drab style in clothes, and the dead look in their eyes.

Ah, to be a teenager.

The theatre was old, old enough to smell. The floorboards groaned out their age with every step, the dampness of the night was spun lazily around the rooms with rumbling vents.

Zuko stood a little apart from the rest, up against a wall without windows, decades-old papers tacked to the bulletin behind his head. His shaggy hair fell in his eyes and covered his angry-looking scar that was eating his eye; lanky body curled in on itself to protect from whatever could come from the rest of the theatre.

Jet seamlessly stood next to him, not too close, but near enough to see the way his fingers tapped against the neck of the violin. It was a grand thing, that violin. Small and a deep mahogany color, curved wonderfully, the strings pulled into taut perfection. Jet had once heard Zuko and his instructor off-handedly mention how much the little instrument was, and Jet was shocked that he could be surprised anymore with the excess of money this family had. It was ridiculous, really, how much they had. No three people and an uncle should have more money than the entire borough of Queens put together.

The cat-gut bow in his hands was worried between long fingers. Jet felt the need to reassure Zuko that this was all going to be okay, but he didn't know how that would be received. He had been working for him for months now, and the two of them had three conversations that lasted more than four words.

Two of which happened to be about food. One about the plumber and his smelly feet, and the third was about superman. The fourth conversation occurred at four in the morning, Zuko bounced out of his room; pupils blown wide. He had made himself a cup of hot chocolate and paced on top of the kitchen counter, getting down only when Jet had asked him to. He then proceeded to speed walk around the whole third floor, prattling off questions about the man of steel, pausing hardly long enough for Jet to answer them.

The night, or morning rather, ended with Zuko sleeping in the bathtub for six hours straight and Jet finding the bottle of Adderal on the dresser and not so subtly flushing them down the toilet.

"I've heard you practice a hundred times, you sound great," He tried, not looking at his face for a reaction. He kept his position, hands clasped, eyes forward.

"But that was in front of you," He grumbled. "These are people that will judge me on how I dress, how I walk, how I manipulate the strings on the violin, how much my suit cost," with every word, it got faster. "They want to know how much everything costs, my shoes, my haircut, my pocket square," He ran out of breath before catching Jet's eye.

"There was a kid once that asked me how much I paid for you,"

Jet raised an eyebrow.

"He was obviously alluding to how much we pay you for a salary, but he still phrased it like that,"

"What did you tell him?" Now he was curious.

"That whatever it is, it's not enough,"

Jet barked out an involuntary laugh, trying to hide it into a cough in case anyone looked over at them. He didn't succeed very well.

This was the first time that Zuko got him to laugh, and it was also the longest that he held eye contact with the bodyguard.

"I really don't want to have to impress people like that, people who ask the price of another person,"

Jet didn't know how to approach that, how to reassure the kid that this wasn't going to be the last time that he gets comments about Jet like that. He had heard all of the jokes and jibes from the first family he worked with, from the IQ of his ethnicity to the validity of his citizenship status.

What he did know was that this isn't a conversation to be had in the back of a theatre. So he plastered on his biggest, shiniest grins and looked at him over top of his sunglasses.

"Then don't just impress them, kid. Knock their fucking socks off,"

Zuko nodded, suddenly not able to look him in the eye, a steady pink raising to his cheeks.

Jet had heard him play that same song over twenty times, from start to end, and he couldn't hear if he screwed up or not. It sounded exactly the same. They had sat in the back of the theatre, waiting his turn for another forty-five minutes in complete silence.

Now Jet stood well behind the curtains with the other kids waiting, having, of course, budged to the front of the line so he could have a clear line of sight to Zuko while he played.

It did echo a bit sweeter in here though, the wide-open space in front of him offered better reverberation, the pauses between sections hung in the air with more tension, the frenzy of his bow across the strings was more alive. Not once did Zuko open his eyes, not to look for his parents or his beaming uncle, not to look at the audience. He bowed politely when he got up on stage and when he got down, and that was it.

Jet didn't clap when he was done, because he had been sure from the beginning that all of this would be perfectly okay.

He justly calmly followed Zuko back to the little spot up against the far wall behind the curtain where his things were and watched him lovingly packed up the violin.

"Do you want to go sit with your parents?" Jet asked.

Zuko shook his head.

Jet acknowledged this and stood next to the slouching teenager, both listening to the symphony on the stage just behind the curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter for a while, definitely not forever unless I spontaneously combust, but for a few weeks at least. I need to figure out where this story needs to end up and how to get there. I also have like four other stories happening right now and a book I've been writing for literally five years that all need to be finished. Not to mention all new ideas rattling around in my head.  
> SO! If you want to, any chapter ideas or what you'd like to see happen in this fic will be received happily, and until I see you again (it's still quarantine, it won't be that long,) be good and stay safe!


	25. Not a chapter, a question

I know that I advertised smut, and smut I delivered, but do y'all want more? Like, is once enough, or do you want to see more of that? I'm asking because I definitely don't want to write a chapter like that and for it to be disliked or uncalled for. I will stomp down the awkwardness and write more if you all want it on the menu. 

Okay, I'm done asking stupid shit. 

Please comment and let me know. 

NEW QUESTION!!

Since Avatar The Last Airbender has been back on Netflix (praise the gods) of course, I have been binge-watching it. Obviously. That MEANS I have been paying careful attention to the characters I have featured in this lovely little piece of fiction, and I gotta say, wow, I could have made Jet so goddamn crazy. That is a whole GALLON of untapped potential of batshit banana bonkers and I have hardly skimmed the surface of it.

Now, for the actual question,

Would y'all enjoy a chapter from the canon universe? A little romance between the canon boys? If so when and where should it happen? Jet and Zuko on the immigration boat? At the tea shop? (Spoiler) Jet didn't die and comes to bother the fire lord who is conveniently NOT married to Mai? 

I am here to serve, your wish is my command. 

I will also add that the imagery from the season one finale Seige of the North was absolutely breathtaking and I did cry a little when Aang and La tore down that navy fleet. STUNNING. Koh the face stealer scared the shit out of me when I was little and I'm petrified of him now.

Will it show you that I updated a previous chapter? I hope so. If I don't get response on this then I'll make a new chapter with this same info.


	26. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the thing again where I took a ~juicy~ bit from another one of my works and plugged it in here and changed the names. Sorry not sorry, this would take another week if I were to make the ~juicy~ bits from scratch again. The pure and simple fluff is original though.

For the second time in five years, Jet didn't wake up alone. 

The cracked open shades let in the rising sun, casting the room in every impossible shade of pink and yellow. The dawn light ran across the room in horizontal slats, highlighting the mediocre art on the walls and, more importantly, the severe beauty of Zuko's face. He wasn't frowning in his sleep; he wasn't masking an emotion or tempering the anger down; he was just  _ being. _

Memories of the night before lazily flowed through Jet's limbs and heated his cheeks. It didn't matter that he'd been off-handedly thinking about doing that for a few weeks now, because Zuko was curled in his arms  _ right now _ , pressed against his chest and his scalding breath was coming out in little puffs against Jet's throat. 

If he needed to repress the soaring in his chest, he couldn't, nor did he want to, Zuko's skin felt too soft and too right under his calloused fingers.

~0~

Zuko ate his pancakes while sitting cross-legged on the counter next to Jet, who had the sense to stand on the floor. Zuko drowned in Jet's shirt, and he was perfectly fine with never getting it back, he never looked that good in it anyway.

"What do you want to do tod-" Jet started, but Zuko sat up sharply and set down his plate on the counter with a crack. 

Jet watched with raising eyebrows as Zuko hopped off the counter and almost ran to the bedroom. 

"Are you okay?" he called out, following him into the small room. Zuko tore through his bag, clothes flying all over, a paperback book narrowly missing Jet's face. 

"Whoa, hey," he grunted, but Zuko wasn't paying attention. 

"It's gone," he sat back on his haunches and scanned the chaos he had just created, eyes scanning everything.

"I thought maybe I packed them, but I don't remember seeing them since the break-in, I think he might have taken them."

"He took what?"

"My prayer beads, my jade Buddhist prayer beads." He looked up at Jet, anger simmering under his skin. "I didn't find them when I went into my room. I didn't dig around for them; I didn't want to touch anything he might have. I never thought he would steal something so simple as my prayer beads; they weren't even that special to me. I don't know why I'm just realizing this,"

"We need to call the detective and tell him," Jet bent down too, only hesitating for a second to reach out and touch him. It was so new, to not need an excuse to touch, and knowing that when he did, it would be well received. As predicted, Zuko leaned into the hand pressed against his shoulder, nodding at Jet.

"I can do it if you don't want to talk," he offered, shaking off the delighted feeling at the notion of  _ always _ taking care of Zuko.

"You will?" the time hadn't been taken to sculpt his hair into the masterpiece it was during the workweek in several days; instead, it flopped against his forehead and stuck up randomly where ever it pleased.

"If you want me to, yeah." Jet shrugged even though he didn't feel all that nonchalant.

The reception was spotty at best out in the middle of nowhere, so Jet was thankful the detective was short and to the point during the phone call. He told him about how the prayer beads were missing and that the stalker was the only person who would have an interest in them. Detective Barron thanked them and hung up.

"I wish everyone I called was as curt as he is," Jet commented, setting the phone down on the counter. 

"What did he say?"

"He said that he'd add it to the report and add theft to the long list of his rep sheet,"

"Okay," he sighed, a little shakily, leaning against the counter, frowning at his trembling hands.

Jet gnawed on his lip, not knowing what to stay that the kid hadn't heard already. Before he could open his mouth, Zuko was lifting his phone off the counter.

"I need to call Yue," he mumbled, scrolling through his phone and making his way to the patio.

"Oh," Jet nodded. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me,"

The breakfast pans were washed quickly, breakfast put away, but he lingered in the room. Zuko, for as brilliant and quick-witted as he was, didn't realize how thin the patio door was, and Jet could hear, though faintly, what he was saying on the phone. It also didn't help that he had the phone on speaker mode, and the door wasn't even fully shut.

_ Madre de Dios, this boy wouldn't be a very good spy, _ Jet thought to himself, pretending to flip through a cookbook as he eavesdropped. 

"How are you, sweetheart?" Yue's lilting voice came through the phone.

"It's actually not that bad up here, believe it or not," Zuko was sitting on a patio chair, knees pulled up under his chin.

"And the company?"

Jet's interest piqued.

"Umm, good," he said, voice too high.

"Zuko," Yue scolded, but they sounded too excited for it to carry weight. "What happened?"

Zuko mumbled something into his knees, and Yue must have understood it because a howling laugh blared from the phone.

"You slept with him, didn't you? Christ, it took you two long enough," they squealed.

Zuko rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small smile on his lips.

"When did it happen?"

"Last night," Zuko mumbled again.

"How was he? I know you aren't one to kiss and tell, but  _ Lord, _ " they sighed wistfully. "You can't deny a poor soul those details, especially when he looks like  _ that _ ,"

Jet bit his tongue to keep from smiling, watching from the corner of his eye as Zuko nervously looked at him, still not noticing that the door was cracked open.

"It was good; I don't know what you want me to say,"

"Good? You had a Mexican god in your bed, and all you can say is  _ good _ ?"

"Technically, it was his bed," Zuko corrected.

"Oh, whatever, you know what I mean."

"Fine, it was great. The best. He is the best; I don't know why I didn't tackle him to the ground years ago."

Jet felt a little smug; this was a great little ego booster.

"Because years ago, you were an awkward teenage boy who couldn't fuck his way out of a paper bag," Yue commented drily, a no doubt seductive curl to their perfect lips.

"And my skills have improved since then?" Zuko queried, eyebrow raised even though Yue couldn't see him.

"I think you should practice on Jet and have him call me to discuss," Yue crooned into the receiver, making Zuko and Jet both blush vigorously.

Jet no longer wanted to listen in on the conversation; he felt too itchy. Don't get him wrong, the idea made his blood sing, but how was he supposed to broach the subject? Over tea? During a friendly game of cards?

"Yue," Zuko groaned, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Oh, come on, look me in my metaphorical eyes and tell me that you haven't thought about it?"

"Of course I've thought about it," Zuko blurted loudly, chastising the phone. "I just don't know if I'm the only one thinking it,"

"Sweetheart," Yue murmured, and Jet's heart fell from his chest.

In his humble opinion, he thought he had done a pretty adequate job showing how much he had wanted Zuko the night before because he certainly couldn't put it into words. How as he supposed to verbally articulate the feeling that ate his chest every time he thought about him?

Zuko, not aware of Jet's minor meltdown happening in the middle of the kitchen, shrugged a shoulder, feigning indifference even though Jet could see it bothered him more then he would let on. "Don't get all pitying on me, Yue, we didn't bring..." he wondered how he could say condoms or lube out loud without turning crimson, so he muttered out, "supplies..."

"Ah," Yue sighed, placated. "I assume you couldn't have Amazon deliver to you in the middle of the nowhere," they mused.

"No," Zuko huffed out a laugh.

"All right then, love. I have a meeting in a few minutes; I'll talk to you tomorrow,"

"Okay, thank you for listening,"

"Always, and next time, you're giving me every single detail, do you understand me?"

Zuko rolled his eyes. "You're disgusting,"

"Yes, and you love me for it,"

As they hung up, Jet found himself standing by the glass doors, staring at Zuko, who was still curled in the wicker lawn chair, staring off into the trees.

"You heard everything, didn't you?" Zuko asked, not taking his eyes off of a bluejay pestering a robin in an old hickory tree.

"The door wasn't shut all the way," Jet defended, gnawing on the edge of his already painfully short thumbnail. He stepped out onto the patio.

"I don't regret it. Last night. Do you?" Finally, Zuko turned away from the birds and leveled his molten gold eyes on Jet, pinning him against the railing with the stare.

"No," Jet responded quickly and firmly. "I'll never regret you."

Zuko's eyes didn't soften; the tension in his face made his scar more severe, more dangerous looking. It almost dared anyone that looked at to believe that Zuko was indestructible. If the burn hadn't killed him, nothing could.

"You haven't asked me yet," even though he was sitting in a submissive and vulnerable position with his knees drawn up under his chin, he was radiating  _ predator _ . "I've known you for five, almost six years, and you've not once asked me what happened to my face." His eyes were pointed but not accusatory.

"It was never any of my business," Jet shrugged, desperately searching sufficient enough words. "It was never my business for the first year I was with you; it wouldn't make you any more or less Zuko if I knew. I figured that you'd tell me if you wanted me to know,"

"And after you came back?"

"You were still Zuko." Jet met the smoldering look, wondering how to close to being angry he was.

"And your uncle sort of told me the basic information," Jet admitted, cringing as he spoke.

Zuko's expression didn't even waver. "My uncle is not a quiet man; I heard most of your conversation the whole time we were at the studio,"

"Wait, you knew he told me, and you aren't mad at him?" Jet squinted at Zuko, who shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's not a secret. I trust his judgment as much as I trust yours,"

The declaration that wasn't really a declaration flipped and tumbled happily in Jet's stomach like an excited puppy.

"I trust you too, for the record," he couldn't help the lopsided grin that stretched across his mouth.

Zuko huffed out a breath.

"You don't have to tell me," Jet reassured after a few minutes of content silence.

"My therapist told me it would be a good idea to tell someone, and I've never told anyone before. Everyone that already knows was there when it happened,"

"Okay," Jet settled himself in the other wicker chair across the small patio, steeling himself. This wasn't going to be easy for either of them.

"When I was fourteen, three men snatched me out of the car after they almost beat the chauffeur to death," no emotion slipped across Zuko's face as he spoke. "I could hear them on the phone with my father from where they kept me in the basement of a building, I think it was a basement anyway, there was no light. I couldn't scream, they had me gagged, I couldn't move, they had me bound. I sat in silence for twelve hours while they bartered with my father over the price of my life. From what I've put together from what Ozai told me and Uncle Iroh, the price was too high for him to pay. Not that he didn't have the money, he simply wouldn't pay it. And when he still wouldn't pay it, they put me on the phone with my family while they pressed my face into the gas stove pilot."

He paused, almost thoughtfully. Jet felt nauseous. 

"They let me go after that. Said that this was almost as good as the monetary reparations they wanted. I walked for two blocks with half of my face missing before an old woman stopped me and asked me if I needed help,"

Jet's throat was thick, and he couldn't remember when that had started.

"I'm lucky to still have my eye," he commented as his eyes followed Jet while he stood up and almost floated to his side.

"I was in the burn unit for six weeks," his head fell back against the chair as Jet cupped the left side of his face, thumb tracing the edge of the scar. "They took skin grafts off the center of my back; I covered it up with the Blue Spirit," his sentence taper off into a whisper as Jet's lips followed the path of his thumb, kissing the scar that crept up into his hairline, skin smooth and tight.

Jet could feel the thrumming Zuko's pulse as he wrapped his fingers around his throat, just hard enough to keep his head in place as he continued around the edge of the scar and up around the shell of his burned ear, reveling in the shiver that ran through Zuko when he exhaled into his ear. He liked the contrast of his tan fingers against the pale stretch of his neck.

"Grandfather told me that my sacrifice would be appreciated by the company, that it wasn't for nothing; it gave me honor."

Jet growled into the side of his neck, fingers tightening ever so slightly when white-hot rage poured through his body.  _ Sacrifice, honor _ , God, he hated those words. They were always spoken by those who nothing about the meaning.

Zuko shivered again and tilted his head farther away from Jet, baring his neck. He seemed to have lost his words; the only thing he could focus on was Jet's teeth on the edge of his jaw and how they were going lower. 

Jet had never been a die-hard fan of marks, a bit too possessive for his tastes, a bit too heavy in implications of want and need. But now, as he brought to life purpling marks on Zuko's throat that had him eliciting sharp hisses, he couldn't deny the appeal.

His hand was still caught around his neck, fingers holding his head still as he soothed the last mark with a kiss, not bothering to pull his shirt up from his collarbone. 

The look on Zuko's face wasn't an emotion, at least, not any that Jet had ever seen before. He wasn't happy or sad or angry; he was on  _ fire _ . Everything about him screamed of flames and infernos, heat and scorched metal.

Under the bruising force of Zuko's eyes, Jet let go of his throat. Zuko surged up against him, crashing together like magnets.

They didn't bother to open their eyes as they knocked into the sliding glass door, hardly enough focus between the two of them to make sure it locked behind them as they stumbled through the house, a tangle of panting, teeth and scalding hot touch.

They didn't even make it to the bedroom and instead fell onto the shag carpet in the living room, Zuko straddling Jet.

In the past weeks, Jet had a few dreams about Zuko, his hands in particular. Long pale fingers that could yield a violin as easily as a sword. But now, as one traveled lower than ever before, he knew for sure that this was not a dream.

His long fingers slipped under the waist of his jeans and wrapped around Jet, rough and warm, palm sliding easily over him.

Jet's hands moved of their own accord, grabbing Zuko's face and crushing their mouths together like the world was ending.

He kissed him furiously, and Zuko swallowed every growl and groan, hand working him for all he was worth.

Jet's fingers found the hem of Zuko's shirt, and he hiked it up to his back, heavy kisses on his neck made him squirm.

"Shirt off, shirt off  _ please _ ," Jet growled, losing the war and started to shallowly thrust into his hand, aching for more touch.

Zuko let him go, a side effect that made Jet hiss, but he couldn't peel his eyes away as Zuko's shirt came off in one fluid motion.

"God, don't ever change. Promise?" Jet asked, surging up and pressing their bodies together, groaning against his throat, his hands sliding against his naked torso like they had a map of his skin.

Zuko stroked him, sure and firm. He clicked his tongue. "I can't promise anything," he teased, head tilted back, and a sharp smile just for him.

Jet finally understood religion then. Raised Catholic, he thought he had a pretty good idea about God and church and being a pious man, but this was so much holier. He appreciated getting on your knees to pray, the pew a small cabin in Ontario, their church was a cocoon of panting breath and wanton words.

As gentle as his war-hardened hands could, Jet cupped **__ ** Zuko's face in his hands and tilted his head up to meet his eyes.

"As long as it's you, nothing could get in my way." 

Zuko's eyes were wild with what could only reflect in Jet's. Shag carpet would rub their skin raw, and their kisses were too fast to be neat, but damn anyone that told them that this wasn't perfect. That this was something they had both been reaching for since Jet came home.

Quick and firm, Zuko pushed Jet back down onto the carpet, hands ran around his stomach, up and down his thighs, all while Zuko made eye contact.

"When was the last time you got on your back for someone?" Zuko asked, almost conversationally, but his words were too thick as he ran a finger from weeping tip to base and up again. Jet was breathing heavily, up on his elbows watching.

"Or is it just me?"

Jet had never been overly sensitive, but those words made him see white and had him moan at the sound of Zuko's voice.

"When did you get such a dirty mouth?" He panted out.

With heavily lidded eyes, he leaned forward and licked his tip like he was tasting a candy.

If Jet weren't already on his back, his knees would have buckled.

"When I started fantasizing what you would taste like, Jet," he replied solemnly, bright pink tongue tracing the pulsing veins, eyes held with Jet, who was shaking.

He kissed the head one more time, then gathered it between his sheathed teeth, one hand wrapped around the rest of him, the other curled with bruising force on his hip.

Everything screamed in Jet to lay back and close his eyes, but he couldn't tear his eyes away, Zuko's eyes had settled shut.

Jet pushed Zuko's hair out of his eyes, thumb wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Without opening his eyes, Zuko guided his hand deeper into his thick black hair. Jet experimentally closed his fist, pulling lightly.

Zuko groaned around his cock in his mouth, making Jet cry out. "Oh my god, Zuko,"

With a smirk, he sucked hard, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing up and down.

Jet's vision ebbed and blacked out around the edges. The only thing he could see was his dick sliding in and out of his mouth, and the flush that settled over Zuko's nose and into his cheeks. He was enjoying this just as much.

The hot white fire that had been coiled like a live wire in the base of his spine for this entire epic show was growing bigger and hotter with every bob of Zuko's head.

"I'm gonna come," he warned, trying to scoot back out of his mouth. Zuko kept his pace, not caring about the information that he was given.

With one last warning, Jet's back stiffened and his hips bucked up involuntarily, and long, low moan leaving his lips.

With perfect clarity, he watched Zuko pop off of him, thick white strings painting his face and neck and across his parted lips.

Jet groaned again, not able to control his shuddering body.

Zuko licked his lips, tasting him.

Jet couldn't even think about moving.

Zuko settled next to him on the carpet, fingers tracing the outline of muscles in his chest.

Jet grabbed his hand, curling their fingers together.

"Please don't say thank you," Zuko interjected.

Jet paused and frowned. "I wasn't,"

"Good. I had a guy say that to me once. Didn't like it very much,"

Jet grimaced. "Please don't talk about other guys when I'm still half-naked next to you,"

Zuko smiled quietly. "Does it gross you out?"

"No, but it makes me want to punch their teeth in,"

"You wouldn't last very long in a dance club," Zuko commented, stroking his thumb over their hands.

"Good thing I'm never going,"

Jet sat up and slipped up his pants, eyes-catching Zuko's form as he rolled over on the rug, stretching his arms over his head. It was such an easy thing to watch, the motion of his body like a flickering flame. Zuko rose to his feet with a sigh.

"Are you leaving?" Jet asked, frowning.

"Yeah?" Zuko glanced at him over his shoulder, the smooth slide of his muscles visible under his skin. Jet swore the Blue Spirit winked at him.

"But," Jet stammered for the right words. Could he just tell him that he wanted to touch him more? Make him feel good, too, even though he didn't know what he was doing?

Instead, he gestured vaguely to the bulge still left in Zuko's shorts.

"You're just going to walk away?" he blushed furiously, even though he didn't have a single reason to be embarrassed.

Zuko shrugged. "I'll be fine,"

"Can I, though? Please?" He burst out, wishing he could just melt through the floorboards. Zuko raised an eyebrow.

Jet didn't wait for him to ask why or try and convince him that he was, in fact, okay.

Instead, he stood in front of him and pulled the shirt out of his hands, dropping it to the floor.

"I said please," he murmured. He had never minded the term  _ 'stealing a kiss' _ until he met someone who had more than that taken from him.

Neither of them bothered pretending that what had happened to Zuko in Japan wasn't going to affect him for the rest of his life because it would cling to him like the scar. Jet may not have known what to do with a man's body, but he knew how to make Zuko feel safe. If he allowed himself the sin of pride, he thought he had done a pretty good job the night before. 

"And what are you going to do to me, Jet?" Zuko asked as gently as his gruff voice could allow. 

"I'm not totally sure, but I wanna find out," he offered cautiously.

Zuko nodded, cheeks pink, and breath erratic.

He let Jet push him back to the floor, as soft and compliant as his dangerous body could be. His muscles fluttered under his skin as Jet kissed them.

"I have a good business idea, do you want to hear it?"

Zuko watched him with cheeks so flushed it was a sin. Jet fought to find the joke that had been lodged in his throat.

"I think we should invent flavored tattoos," he said as conversationally as he could with a panting Zuko beneath him. Jet was in all fours, hovering over him, watching his chest rise and fall, the lips that had been his undoing parted with his breathing.

"Maybe not," he relented. "I would only want them to taste like you anyway,"

Zuko sighed into his mouth, not an outwardly erotic noise, but it lit a fire in Jet none the less.

"Can I touch you?" Jet pulled away from the warmth of his mouth, making eye contact so he would know if Zuko was lying. "The second you say stop or no or anything like that, I'll stop. Promise."

"Where have you been hiding all this time?" Zuko mused, long-fingered hands brushing his cheek. Beaming, Jet presses a kiss between his eyes.

"In the closet,"

The laugh burst from Zuko and filled the room with burning light. It rained over the both of them, making Jet's chest feel tight and happy and he couldn't keep the dopey grin off his face.

"So I can touch you?"

Zuko nodded. "Yes, Jet. Never stop."

This was nothing like rolling around with a girl. It was new and different and absolutely amazing.

He had Zuko's body pressed into the carpet, but not hard enough that he couldn't move against him. Zuko was smooth and so hot he was almost scorching where his chest met Jet's, and as his hand lowered down between his legs and ran his palm over him, a melodic hum left Zuko. His fingers curled into his shoulder, blunt and sweet. He did a good enough job of keeping still, especially when Jet slid his hand under the elastic of his boxers.

The hum came back, breathier this time as Jet started a rhythm with his hand, lips still trailing over Zuko's chest and neck, making a constellation of dark marks on his unblemished skin.

Jet had never been so deeply invested in someone else's pleasure before. With his previous flings, he had obviously cared whether or not they had a good time, but he didn't watch their face the whole time or get butterflies in his stomach at the way they bit their lip or moaned shakily into his mouth.

Zuko was louder than he imagined he would be. Everything about Zuko quiet and controlled, the kind to steam in silence. But none of those words could be used on him now.

"Jet," he growled at volumes that surely would have had them caught if they hadn't been in the alone in the forest.

"Yes?" He trailed his teeth over Zuko's chest, and he bucked into his hand.

"Don't stop," he gasped, the blush on his face and neck had Zuko's licking his Adam's apple to see if he tasted like strawberries.

It was so much better.

"Okay," he breathed, "I won't,"

Three words danced on the edge of his teeth, words that hadn't been thrown around between the two of them before. Three words, three syllables, but they weighed more than anything else Jet had ever said. He wanted so badly to whisper them in his ear, over and over until they weren't words anymore, just the tight, airy feeling in his chest that he wanted to share.

He told Zuko every day, just never out loud. It was in the way he looked at him, every time he held open the door, told him to be careful, or told him that everything would be alright because they had each other.

So why would he need to tell him what he already knew? He knew Zuko felt the same way. His fingers were digging into his back like they were trying to find a new home, lips open and panting, body warm and welcoming. It was written in the way his spine arched and in the way that he called out Jet's name, clinging to his body like a life raft.

You don't tell the sky it's blue, because the sky knows its blue. What else could it be?

Jet didn't tell Zuko that he loved him, because Zuko knew he loved him. What else could they be, if not in love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't lecture me about skin grafts, I know they take from your legs and thighs and whatever, I wanted an even deeper meaning to the tattoo.   
> Fight me.  
> Don't, I'll cry.


	27. Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only five hundred words, VERY short, I know and I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of a damn word to write, and I stared at the blank screen for a week and I knew this would have to be the best I could do until I figure out what to do next.  
> I also have to inform you, that we are in the endgame now. Years ago when I first thought this up, it was going to be three chapters, that's it. Then it grew legs and ran away from me. I don't know how many more chapters there's going to be, but probably no more than five. But don't worry, they won't be short like this one, they'll be a bit heftier.

"We could have just called a grocer," Zuko wrinkled his nose, staring at the shelf of processed cheese.

"That would have taken forever; we were driving passed, I just have to grab a few things," Jet hovered close to him, purposefully bumping him with his chest as he leaned over to grab at a head of cabbage.

Zuko sighed but stopped complaining. The little bodega was on their way home, the transition of a week in the silent woods all alone to being surrounded by millions of people was jarring, to say the least.

Zuko had shed his suit jacket and tie in the car, leaving him in his white button-up and slacks. Even under the flickering fluorescent lights of the rundown shop, glancing at him from the corner of his eye made Jet's stomach flip-flop. They had kept his first day back at work entirely professional, breaking it only once when Jet had, under the guise of camaraderie, clapped Zuko on the shoulder, and pressed his thumb into the dip of his shoulder where he had left a  _ bit  _ of an overzealous mark two days earlier.

Zuko had batted his hand away but chewed on his lips for a few minutes after, lost in thought.

"My mom wants to see you again, says she needs to cook a good proper dinner some night; apparently she thinks I'm not feeding you enough," Jet commented, purposefully not looking at Zuko's reaction.

He tensed, just the barest of movements, but Jet caught it from the corner of his eye. 

He knew how much this sounded like he wanted to bring him home to his parents to meet, and even though that is what he wanted  _ badly _ , he knew how slippery this slope was. They had just become  _ something _ , it didn't even have a name yet, and suddenly his hands were a little sweaty.

Zuko's mind flew a thousand miles a minute, calculating and overprocessing the data roiling in his mind, attacking the situation at all angles, mentally going through every possible outcome of how seeing his mom again could go, and he played out every answer to every conversation in his head. This was all carefully and neatly boiled down into a curt nod and a "Yeah, that sounds nice."

"Yeah?" Jet realized how stupid he looked, standing in a haberdashery, holding a wilting cabbage next to a millionaire that he had  _ thoroughly  _ debauched forty-eight hours earlier, butterflies thudding in his chest at the thought of having him again. And again.

"Yeah," Zuko affirmed, a little firmer. "But maybe just your mom? And not the entire herd of nieces and nephews and sisters?"

Jet laughed. "You scared of my sisters or somethin'?"

"No," Zuko lied, a little sulkily.

_ Happy happy happy _ fluttered up in the both of them, warm and light and exciting, and they stood grinning at each other like two idiots for longer than they should have.


	28. Author's note

I'm sorry that I haven't updated in a few weeks. I fully intend on finishing this fic, it's just not coming to me at the pace that it did before. Come hell or high water, this fic _is_ going to be finished.

Every other fic I have going right now is coming to me like water, this is one is like concrete. So my other fics are going to get more attention because this is definitely not a democracy in my mind, it is a dictatorship and the stories have full reign, and right now, they're not getting along with Only if for a night.

Why am I like this?

This is the first time I've dicked around with the controls on the website, and WAS NO ONE GOING TO TELL ME THAT THERE WAS A HORIZONTAL LINE OPTION?

* * *

This would have been great instead of me doing my weird little ~0~ things all over the place that look like a person awkwardly shrugging.


	29. Back to work PT. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you noticed, I put there are 34 parts to the story, meaning that there is roughly five chapters left. But believe me, when I say roughly, I really mean ROUGHLY.  
> Yes, I know it's been a while, it took a hot minute to crank out the inspiration to write this because my creativity is a finite resource, apparently. Scary to think about that.  
> This is just small and sort of a fluff chapter, but with my weird-ass hang-ups on writing, I figured something was better than nothing.

Boring, _boring_ , **_boring_ ** , everything was so impossibly dull. Jet could handle boring, he had been a marine for most of his life, he had babysat sand dunes and done surveillance rounds that lasted north of twelve hours at a crack. But _Jesus fucking christ_ , this was so impossibly boring. After spending a week in the forest without anything gray in his line of sight except for the occasional cloud, he had forgotten how dreary the color was, the way it seemed to suck the life out of everything around it, neutral, sure, but depressing? Yes.

The carpet in Zuko's office was gray, no flecks of white or brown or hell, a _DIFFERENT_ shade of gray to spice up the monotony of the impossible sheet of gray that surrounded the one hundred square foot room. When the carpet drove him to madness, he'd recline his head back and glared at the black and white speckled ceiling tiles, Since they were one foot by one-foot squares, it would make sense that there are or would be, one hundred tiles. There were not one hundred tiles. There was one hundred and one.

"Someone fucked up your ceiling tiles," he said out loud, almost on accident.

Zuko's head snapped up, looking at Jet with absolute confusion.

"What?"

"I have no goddamn idea how they fucked somethin' up that is so simple, but they did it. There is one more tile than there needs to be, and I think I'm going to have a stroke if I keep thinkin' about it,"

"Then stop looking at the ceiling," Zuko grunted.

"I've already looked at the floor for too long, I need something interesting to hold my attention," Jet refused to whine, he was an adult man, and he was at work for the love of God.

It happened anyway.

"Read a book," Zuko suggested, not looking away from his computer screen.

"Read a book?" Jet scoffed, giving him a sidelong look. "What do I look like? Someone that reads books?"

"Not with that attitude, you aren't," Zuko sighed.

"Rude."

"Bite me,"

"Was that an invitation?" Jet crooned, jumping on the distraction, giving himself permission to walk closer, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk.

"No," Zuko finally looked at up him, Jet's organs somersaulted in his stomach, shaking and crashing into each other under the look. It wasn't a particularly heated look, he wasn't undressing Jet with his eyes, he wasn't pairing the look with a particular facial expression that would imply promiscuity. It was just a look. And it was fully trained on Jet.

"Is it a possibility that you have ADHD?"

"What? No,"

"Did you ever get tested ?"

"...No,"

"Did you have a hard time focusing in school?"

"I was a teenage boy, of course, I had a hard time focusing in school,"

"Did you get in trouble for being disruptive in class?"

"Again, I was a teenage boy, a synonym for attention whore, so yeah, all the time,"

"I think you have ADHD,"

"You have no other proof, I can concentrate on lots'a stuff all the time,"

"Yeah, you get hyper-focused on stuff, and I can't get your attention away half the time,"

"Like what? I bet you can't name one damn thing."

"When you're cooking, If you're focused on it, then I could have an entire conversation with you, _without_ you participating in it,"

"Okay, so maybe I get a little focused on my cuisine, is that a crime?"

"No,"

"Then why do I feel like I'm on trial?"

"You're not on trial, Jet, I'm just worried about you,"

"You're worried about me? Kid, It's my job to worry about _you,_ "

"Why wouldn't I be worried about you, you're my," Zuko faltered for his wording, mouthing going a little slack as he thought of a term.

Jet was instantly and HORRIFICALLY anxious. There were so many ways he could finish that sentence, and Jet would play along with whatever he said. Bodyguard. Friend. Fuckbuddy. Friends with benefits. Person I slept with twice during a stressful situation and will probably never do so again.

Zuko's cheeks took an endearing and slightly worrisome shade of red. 

"Bestfriend. You're my best friend, and I think I have the right to worry about you."

Oh

In media, someone's internal processes are made corporeal by a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, but that wasn't what was happing in Jet's brain right now. One half of his mind was screaming _OH THANK GOD WHAT DO I DO? WHAT DO I DO? WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK!_ While the other half of him was quietly developing a nervous twitch in its eye about how anticlimatic the sentiment was.

None of this showed on Jet's face as he stared at Zuko from across the cramped room in silence for a little too long, mouth open.

"Jet?" Zuko tried, the heat of his cheeks not receding.

"What? Oh, sorry," his jaw snapped shut, and he straightened his shoulders and worked his fingers into knots. "I'm your best friend? What about Yue?"

Zuko shrugged, carefully reorganizing his desk. "They're great, and I love them, yet at the same time," he was still furiously blushing, sparkling golden eyes rolled up to meet the ridiculous number of ceiling tiles. "Yue doesn't know how I like to take my tea," he said in a quiet, almost pained voice.

The walls of the office building were thin, Jet could hear the conversation happening in the office next to Zuko's, as well as the din from the cubicle area and the mechanical creak of the copy machine.

That was literally the only reason that Jet wasn't jumping up and down right now, yelling his head off and teasing Zuko about how he probably had a crush on him.

So he did it as quietly as he could.

"Oh my sweet Jesus, you are the cutest little thing," he cooed, unable to fight the obnoxious grin on his mouth. "I bet you're sweet on me, aren't you?"

"Sweet on you?" Zuko frowned as he figured out the words, then his bashful face was replaced almost instantly by a look of fire tempered steel, cutting and beautiful.

"Jet, we've fucked. Twice. I think it's safe to say I like you,"

The words were spoken low, quiet enough that no one could _possibly_ hear them from the surrounding areas, but they reverberated through Jet like he was a gong. 

He cleared his throat. "Right."

"Did you forget?" Zuko teased, the joke was rough with disuse in his mouth.

"God no, haven't thought about anything else in days," Jet mused, settling himself down in the chair opposite the desk, a voracious grin stretched over perfect white teeth.

Zuko muttered about him being impossible as he blushed and started clacking away at his keyboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone out there protesting and changing the world, THANK YOU SO MUCH! Thank you for standing up for yourselves and for your beliefs and for people that cannot stand up for themselves. You are doing amazing things and I am so proud of you.  
> Stay safe, stay strong, you're making history.  
> Black Lives Matter.


	30. Back to Work Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't like flan. I'm on Zuko's side, not about ice cream being superior, but that flan is eggy. I also googled the recipe for it, so if the amount of eggs mentioned is not the ACTUAL amount in reality, please tell me.  
> **Thank you GothicLust for telling me the right amount, you're amazing**

The sun warned them that it would be making its way beyond the horizon at any minute, the colors less than remarkable streaked across the sky in tepid shades of pastel pink and orange. Jet still loved it, though, what little stretch of open skyline visible between the skyscrapers' towering bodies. His attention wasn't on the sunset though, he was bemusedly watching Zuko clean up his desk hastily, frowning at the discussion that had devolved into a debate in less than three minutes.

"There is nothing you can say that is going to change my mind,"

"I'm very persuasive," Jet countered from his sprawled out stance on the _deeply_ uncomfortable wooden chair opposite the desk, watching Zuko with half-lidded eyes.

"I don't think you can change my mind,"

"Yes, I can. Cake is better. Hands down."

"You're kidding," Zuko shoved a handful of papers none too gently into his briefcase that-he-refused-to-call-a-briefcase.

"No, actually, I am deathly serious. Cake has been, and always will be, better than ice cream."

"What are you talking about?" Zuko blanched, looking up at Jet with a squint. The mediocre sunset cast him in the subpar shades, and his face made the hues all the more beautiful.

"Cake is warm and soft, and it smells so good," Jet sighed, sliding to his feet and purposefully invaded Zuko's personal space bubble as he slipped past him to open the door.

"Warm and moist and _so soft_ ," he crooned. Zuko 's twisted face made him grin. "You don't like that word? Moist?"

"Blah," Zuko grunted, swinging open his office door. "No. I don't."

Jet clicked his tongue, "It's such a good verb, though,"

Zuko laughed, a startling noise that burnt all the oxygen in from the air, at least, it made so Jet couldn't breathe. He was profoundly proud of himself for eliciting such a noise, especially in public.

"That's not a verb," Zuko said between chuckles.

"What?"'

"Moist," he wrinkled his perfect nose up at the word. "Is not a verb, it's an adjective,"

"What do I look like, an author?' Jet defended himself, but without any effort. Zuko was still smiling up at him as he locked his office door behind him, keys shoved into his pocket.

"I still think ice cream is better," Zuko smirked, taking the lapse in conversation that was caused by Jet being dazzled by the few seconds of unfettered happiness that had poured from Zuko, to interject his opinion. "Fine, then we'll go get ice cream," Jet grumbled.

"So I won," Zuko nodded.

"You did not win," Jet scoffed.

"If you had won, we'd be getting cake right now, not ice cream,"

The hallway of the office building was big enough for them to walk at least two feet apart, maybe more, but the two of them walked shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel safe.

"Well, when we get home, I'm making flan,"

"Flan is gross, it's like an egg cylinder,"

Jet recoiled, staring down at the slightly shorter man, pretending to be irrevocably offended. 

"You just insulted the core of my being, flan is not **_eggy_ **."

"Okay, then how many eggs go into it?"

"Six," he responded triumphantly. 

"And the other ingredients? "

"Milk and sugar," Jet sighed, knowing that he was on the losing side of this argument again.

"See? Eggy."

"I'll teach you how to make it because I'm a master chef, you know, and then you'll know what quality flan tastes like,"

"Deal," Zuko said, stepping a little closer to Jet as the janitor passed by them, almost sloshing the contents of the yellow mop bucket on them. Zuko opened his mouth to scold the janitor, tell him that he didn't want stinky mop water on his shoes when he caught a glimpse of something hanging out of his drab blue pocket. Pale green jade prayer beads, white lotus Pai Sho tile joining the two ends together. Zuko froze, every thought in his mind short-circuiting. His hand shot out and grabbed Jet's arm, halting the bodyguard who was still talking about flan. 

"That's him,"

"What?" Jet frowned at Zuko, looking at the hand clawed around his bicep.

"He has my beads, he has my prayer beads, it's him," The _not-briefcase_ didn't make a climatic sound as it hit the carpet, just a dull thud.

Zuko took off down the hall at a sprint, only yelling one word.

_"STOP!"_

"Zuko, wait!" Jet called out after him, feet pounding the floor as he took off after him.

Jet's head raced as fast as his feet as he thundered down the hall after the two of them. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen this janitor, his presence hardly ever registered in Jet's mind. He was as noticeable as a cardboard wall, but he had both of their undivided attention as he scurried down the hall.

There was nothing that Jet could say that would diffuse this and make it better, not a word in his lexicon that could wrap around how much he wanted Zuko to stop running, stop chasing, to not run headlong into a fight that would inevitably happen. The janitor kicked over his mop bucket, the contents splashing down the hall like a tidal wave, Zuko neatly jumping over it like his body was made for the pursuit, crafted for a fight. Jet knew that it was, hard muscle from years of cruel training, he knew that Masters Jeong Jeong and Piandao had taught him well and that Zuko hadn't met a foe that he couldn't kick to their ass, but Jet's heart clogged his throat anyway.

While Jet and Zuko had years of training to fall back on, the janitor had nothing but his panic to rely on as he threw open the door to the stairway. The three of them clattered down the concrete steps lit by flickering emergency lights, taking them two at a time after the janitor. Knowing in his heart of hearts that he was not the one to talk about rational thought and thinking ahead in highly stressful situations because he tended to ask questions _after_ he let his emotions get the better of him, Jet wished that he had the forethought to call the police before trailing after the two of them in a closed stairwell. The parking garage was only four stories below the office building, so it took less than two minutes to reach the landing. The janitor burst through the door, panting like a dying dog in the middle of July.

Jet figured he didn't do enough cardio.

With an enraged growl, Zuko jumped up, tackling him to the concrete ground, the janitor's head cracking on the cement.

"Why do you have my prayer beads?" Zuko snarled in his ear, twisting his arms behind his back. The janitor coughed, but threw Zuko an amazed smile over his shoulder, well, as well as he could because his face was pressed up against the floor.

"I knew you'd find me."

"You didn' make it very hard," Zuko seethed, "Where did you get them?"

"From your bedside table, top drawer, right next to a bag of cough drops and sleep aide. Not to be confused with, of course," he was still grinning up at Zuko with a smile that Jet wanted nothing more than to stomp off his face. "The second drawer, you know, _that_ one? The one with a _WIDE_ array of tools and toys that I didn't think a sweet boy like you would ever consider buying,"

"Shut up," Jet barked, sucking in a lungful of air as he tried to calm his breathing, his phone already in his hand as he dialed 9-1-1. The janitor didn't heed his suggestion and desperately tried to crane his head over his shoulder at Zulko, who was still holding him down on the ground, pinning his hands behind his back.

"You need to leave him, Zuko," he pleaded. "Do you see the way he talks to you?"

"He was talking to you," Zuko frowned at him.

"See? He's all in your head. He doesn't want you to be happy, can't you see that?"

"Shut up," Zuko parroted, unnerved by the glint in the janitor's bright blue eyes that almost looked feverish.

"He doesn't care about you, Zuko, not like I can, not like I do!" 

Jet affirmed their location to the dispatcher and hung up his phone, sliding it into his back pocket.

"You don't know what you're talking about, so shut the fuck up," He snapped at the janitor, treading closer to them and in one fluid motion and demonstration of brute strength, he grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him clear to his feet.

"No one can love you with that scar on your face, they're lying to you. Everyone is lying to you, except for me! I could take care of you, you'd never have to go outside again, no one would ever stare at you or point again!" the janitor yelled desperately, eyes trained on Zuko and him alone. He seemed to catalog every inch of him with his eyes.

Zuko flinched from the words as though he had been struck.

"I SAID _SHUT THE FUCK UP!_ " Jet roared, punching him in the back of the head. The janitor, whose name they still didn't know, didn't pass out from the blow like they had both hoped. The man stumbled forward a step, only to be wrenched upright by Jet.

"You know I'm right, _you know I'm right_ ," he groaned under his breath as he hung his head, blinking away the black spots in his vision.

The rage simmered off of Zuko, tangible and scalding, and threatened to burn them all alive.

"The police are on the way?" he said, just above a whisper, voice hard rasped and shaking with violence.

"Yeah, they'll be here any minute," Jet responded quickly, adjusting his grip on the wrists of the pathetic man in his grasp, who was still muttering that he could love Zuko more and better than anyone else.

But Jet knew it wasn't true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm usually pretty decent at action scenes, but for some reason, not yesterday or today. With complex action scenes I take well over two weeks to flesh it out and make it nice and tidy, but none of us are going to be happy if it takes another two weeks for a single chapter. Also, when did my chapters get so damn short? It was not an intentional thing to do, maybe it's because we're in the endgame now. IDK.  
> And as always, for everyone out there protesting and changing the world, THANK YOU SO MUCH! Thank you for standing up for yourselves and for your beliefs and for people that cannot stand up for themselves. You are doing amazing things and I am so SO proud of you.  
> Stay safe, stay strong, you're making history.  
> Black Lives Matter.


	31. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really short again, I know. Sorry.  
> I don't CARE if this isn't how the police work or how arresting works, I'm not doing the research or any of that nonsense. Your bitch flies by the seat of her pants in any and all situations. I didn't even want to include the police in this chapter EXCEPT for the fact that I couldn't have these characters committing straight-up murder.

Detective Barron’s mustache was oddly reassuring, given the circumstances, and Jet considered growing one for a split second.

The janitor’s name was Paul Richardson; he had worked at Helman’s for seven years as a custodian and never had so much as a parking ticket.

Jet suggested they look for the deed of a 1995 red chevy car registered to his name to see if the description would match the car that t-boned Jet that afternoon in the parking garage.

It baffled Jet that someone capable of creating that much pain and stress could intentionally and carefully abide by _traffic laws._

It knotted his insides to watch Zuko’s face as an officer slipped the jade prayer beads into an evidence bag. 

Jet wanted to crush Zuko to his chest and hold on till the sun went down, but he also wanted his fists to create a Jackson Pollock painting out of _Paul Richardson’s_ face.

If he were to mention that out loud to Zuko, he would say that Lee Krastner’s work was superior to Pollock’s and would rant again about husbands overshadowing their equally, if not MORE talented, wives.

So he kept that to himself. 

There was some deep satisfaction in watching the slippery bastard get cuffed and read his rights after the arresting officer prattled off a long list of his charges. 

_Breaking and entering._

_Destruction of private property._

_Theft._

_Animal abuse._

_Stalking._

The nondescript man blubbered about Jet assaulting him, but the accusation hardly left his mouth before Detective Barron brushed him off. 

“It was self-defense. God knows he could’ve done a lot worse to you,”

Zuko’s burning eyes watched the squad car pull out of the parking garage.

“We got him.” The detective reassured, voice too gruff to do so adequately.

Zuko nodded.

“How long do you think he’ll be put away?”

“Fifteen plus years, more if we can get him for attempted vehicular manslaughter.”

It took none of the tension out of Zuko’s shoulders.

Jet took over after that, answering questions, signing papers, thanking the detective even though he and Zuko did most of the heavy lifting.

There wasn’t much for the police to do now that the stalker had been hauled away, and they filtered out of the parking garage too. Jet watched them go. 

The last to leave was Detective Barron, and he cast a pitiful look to Zuko, who was viciously gnawing on his thumbnail.

“You take care of him, alright?” He looked at Jet from under his insanely bushy eyebrows that matched his mustache.

“I will.” He nodded.

“Call if you have questions or need anything.”

“Will do, thank you,”

Jet knew better than to touch Zuko when he was like this, a barely in control ball of flames, ready for something to latch onto and burn.

So he quietly picked his way across the parking garage, relieved when he saw that Zuko was following him, even though it was at a distance. 

The elevator doors opened to their correct floor, and it wasn’t hard to find the white Tesla amongst the lexuses.

Jet sent up a silent prayer that he had the key fob in his pocket, and he unlocked the doors.

Zuko slid into the passenger’s seat without a word.

Jet grew up with three sisters that told everyone what they were feeling all the time, he had been raised with people narrating their feelings all the time, and he was at a stalemate with the complete silence coming from Zuko.

“Where to?” He asked quietly, glancing over at the man beside him. He was savagely beautiful in the harsh lighting of the parking garage, his shirt as messy as his hair, tie undone, and exposing the alabaster stretch of his corded throat.

He was devastating and raw, and Jet almost looked away. 

Almost. 

“Home.” He sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> II would have made the police parts more detailed, but we all know how much respect they deserve so I didn't even want them in this chapter. I have no faith in the police and justice systems, (I'm not taking suggestions about that opinion either so please don't try) but I can't think of a different way for him to get put away. He's nasty, deserves prison.  
> I got the janitor's name off a random name generator, if someone has that name, it's a total coincidence and I don't know them.  
> This chapter was short again, I know and I'm sorry. I'm so happy that we're almost done because I cannot stress how little this story is inspiring me anymore. It's a doozy. But alas, I will prevail till the end.  
> As always, stay safe, stay strong. Maybe life will imitate art and the deserved justice will be served in America as it has in this chapter.


	32. Always Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked, I delivered.

Steam hung in the air, thick and smelling like the spice shampoo Zuko always used.

Jet had appreciated the shower when he used it every morning, and it made him remember why he always wanted to be rich.

The floor and walls were lined with stone; the shower head was designed to make the water fall like rain, the lukewarm droplets bouncing off the gunmetal gray of the shower floor. 

Jet couldn't remember a time when he was letting such a wonderful moment of getting clean under a gloriously pressured faucet get away from him, but it slipped between his fingers like water.

The night was so late that it was technically morning, an hour before sunrise. 

Only the vanity lights above the sink were on, and the haze of the steam made the room feel unreal.

It didn't matter why Jet had come into the bathroom, interrupting Zuko's shower, and it didn't matter that he had invited himself into the stall, the condensation on the glass door doing little to hide the figure with his head in his hands standing in the dead center. 

His clothes landing in a heap on the floor, Jet collected Zuko to his chest, knowing better than to think he was angry with him because he didn't melt into his hold like he needed to and instead, Zuko stood stiffly against Jet's body, hiding his face with his wide pale hands.

The only blemish that Jet's calloused palms found on Zuko's back was the bumpy, striated mark between his shoulder blades that was covered by the Blue Spirit tattoo.

He rubbed his back and shoulders with strong hands, working out the stress that had been accumulating there for months, fingers digging into muscle in an attempt to push out the pain.

God above how he hated the man, that subhuman stalker. He hated how a stranger could reduce this insanely powerful and strong human into a pile of shame and fear.

He needed to make sure that Zuko knew he could be more after this was done, that he could heal and get better. 

Jet's thumbs pressed into Zuko's hipbones, and he finally got a response he wasn't sure that he was looking for.

A breathy, barely audible moan.

Tempering himself, Jet didn't move any slower or faster, hands steadily and categorically taking stock of Zuko's body.

No place was left untouched or went without worship, the sharp cut of his hips was loved by work-hardened palms, fingers were dragged up quivering sides, pectoral muscles were traced with the lightest of touches.

Jet's hand closed around Zuko's throat, not possessively or even remotely threatening, and it was accepted with a shuddering sigh, golden eyes holding the gaze, head falling back in the grip. 

"It's over." Jet stated firmly.

Zuko nodded against his hand.

"Say it."

"It's over." Zuko's voice, perpetually graveled, vibrated against Jet's palm in a way that had him nearly growling. 

He kissed everywhere but his lips, his other hand sliding up and cupping his cheek, kissing every inch of the burn that devoured his face.

It wouldn't be enough, though. Not this time. When Zuko told him the story of the scar scarcely a week before, and Jet had kissed and touched the mark, at that moment, it had been enough. The hard marked kisses that had collared his throat for eighteen possessive hours and the wide eyes and bashful smiles had been enough to quell his racing mind that he was all that Jet needed. 

It wouldn't be enough now.

Fingers turned to claws on Jet's shoulders when he caught Zuko's earlobe between his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. It was his burned ear, the skin tight and smooth.

"Tell me he was lying," Zuko demanded. "Tell me he was lying when he said you're only here because you pity me,"

The snarled rumbled in Jet's chest, his whole body rejecting the very idea.

Zuko was easily manhandled, his shaking body pushed against the stone wall with no resistance, a little rougher than Jet intended. But the brute of his corralling was accepted with wide eyes and parted lips, the skin of his shoulders boiling under Jet's palms.

"He lied. Every word." He drilled the words into Zuko with his eyes, not looking away or wavering. 

"I don't pity you. I didn't come to work for you because I pitied you," Jet kept the eye contact, looking into the eye that had been almost burned away. He learned that Zuko listened better when people looked in that eye.

"I didn't kiss you in that car four years ago because I felt obligated to." He crowded himself into Zuko's space, taking his right leg and wrapping it around his waist.

"I did it because I wanted to. I've always wanted to."

Zuko inhaled sharply at the contact, pushing back without shame. 

"I want you."

The noise that was wrenched from Zuko was caught between a sob and a hiccup, the sound filling the stone stall.

"I want you all the time, I can hardly look away from you," he said against Zuko's throat, hitching the leg higher on his waist, grinding into him.

The night on the cabin floor was days ago already, and Jet has hardly been satiated by the quick kisses and light touches. He wanted _depth_ and _noise_ and to relay emotion the best way he could, by showing.

He needed to show Zuko that he was prized and appreciated that nothing would change Jet's mind.

The hot water drumming on his back was forgotten in favor of the delightful warmth of Zuko's body that he had pressed against the cold stone wall. 

Any other time, he might have been able to question his actions, to second guess and doubt, but he was nothing but sure as he flipped him around and scattered heavy kisses down his spine, palms smoothing over his hips and his knee sliding between thighs. 

He could bottle the noise coming from Zuko, sharp and fast and searing, he could commission paintings to commemorate the way the breadth of his shivering shoulders looked from this angle, he could devour the haze on his cheeks.

"Tell me what you want, talk to me," Jet asked against the satin of his shoulder, teeth scraping at the jut of bone.

"Gah," he inhaled, fingers clawing around the handrail in the shower. "You. Everything. Now."

"I can do that."

Jet wondered how he could pride himself on being observant when he had failed to notice a _particular_ bottle sitting on the bathroom shelf of products. It wasn't hiding, nor was it advertised front and center. A different time, he'd ask Zuko about why a bottle of lube was in his shower, but he was otherwise occupied.

Time didn't exist anymore, it was just the slide of skin under steady hands. Seconds no longer tracked one moment from the next, it was breathless gasps. Minutes were of a distant past as fingers roamed, careful and patient under the direction of Zuko and common sense, and names were whispered when the fingers were replaced.

_I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_

Jet let out a shuddering breath, unable to keep his mouth shut. He braced his left hand against the tile wall above Zuko's shoulder, his right hand splayed on the heaving muscle of his stomach, sliding lower.

"Talk to me," he said, his chest plastered to Zuko's back, and he could feel the thundering of his pulse.

"About what?" Zuko asked, trying down the panting.

"I don't want to be bossy," Jet made the mistake of glancing down, and his knees almost gave out. "But I don't want to hear about stock reports right now. Maybe something more relevant,"

"Move," he demanded.

Jet had never followed an order so happily in his life.

_I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_

Jet realized that every time he had thought about someone else or told it to a girlfriend, it hadn't been true. It hadn't come anywhere near the feeling that had been living in his body for weeks now.

Zuko felt right under his touch, under his care, a hip had never so perfectly fit in his grasp, the astounding heat surrounding him had never felt as if he was a missing puzzle piece, he had never felt _found_ by the simple proximity of another person.

He kept the pace of slow and steady, unwavering and unrelenting, effectively dissolving Zuko into sharp inhales and arched spines.

Jet's hand countered the movements, drawing Zuko to the edge like it was the only reason he woke up that morning.

It was art if he ever saw it.

With a growl that shook the stones in the wall, Zuko's body went rigid, clamping around Jet so hard he saw every celestial body sparking before his eyes.

* * *

Jet was good at this part, the rinsing off and the drying off with big fluffy towels, bundling Zuko up in sweatpants and a too-big t-shirt and tucking him under the expensive duvet, and letting him tunnel under the covers to cement his burning hot body against Jet's side.

Drowsy and sweet, he pressed a kiss to Jet's shoulder.

"I know you love me. And I love you too,"

Jet froze, heart pounding.

"You're right," he responded as levelly as he could and failed.

"I know. I usually am."

Jet snorted, unable to keep his heart from soaring away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing and everything at the same time. This was a doozy to write.
> 
> I officially graduated from high school tonight! I had higher expectations about how they would set up the stage to accommodate my wheelchair, but I was too quick to expect something better than something mildly humiliating for me to go through, but oh well. Just a detour in the itinerary of life.
> 
> Last chapter should be up tomorrow or sooner!!
> 
> As always, stay safe, stay strong, Black Lives Matter.


	33. Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BookwormBear, I remembered your request!  
> Last chapter, my lovelies! *insert depressed teenager face here*

A [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PELeEo33JXs) for the last chapter. 

_Each day you'd rise with me, Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty, Oh my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight, Strap the wing to me, Deathtrap clad happily, With wax melted, I'd meet the sea, Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight_

* * *

"I thought you said you don't know how to make Japanese food," Zuko grumbled, nudging Jet with his shoulder.

"I don't, I just know how not to burn food when I'm cooking it," he murmured, bumping shoulders in response.

Zuko gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he surveyed the counters full of food they had spent the whole day making. Bowls of noodles, pans of bubbling soups, and rice wrapped in nori.

"Do you think he'll like it?"

Jet looked at all the food. The noodles were a bit wonky, and the rice wraps were crooked, and he was pretty sure he added too much green onion to the soup, but it didn't really matter.

"You made it for him; he'll love it."

"I might just order in, and we'll eat that instead," Zuko lunged for his phone on the table, but Jet intercepted. He _really_ liked the way his arms fit neatly around his waist and how his mouth fit just right on the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"Iroh will absolutely adore all the effort we've put into the food, trust me,"

Zuko leaned back into the touch without hesitation, craning his head for Jet to finish kissing the side of his neck.

"You're sure?"

"Positive," he whispered against the ivory skin, grinning at the goosebumps that raced after his breath.

* * *

"If Uncle were forty years younger, you'd have some competition," Jet sighed playfully, stacking Tupperware on top of each other in the refrigerator. They had sent Iroh home with his fair share of the food, after he had hugged and kissed them thirty times each, telling them to come to visit his new tea shop when it opened.

Zuko snorted. "The fact that you're calling him 'Uncle' sort of negates your want of dating him,"

"You don't know what I'm into,"

Zuko wrinkled his perfect nose. "Yuck."

"Yuck indeed,"

Jet closed the door to the shiny new fridge and turned to face Zuko, who was leaning against the counter, looking impossibly delicious with his l o n g legs crossed and teacup raised to his lips. He wondered if it was normal to feel love physically as if his heart was expanding and pressing on the insides of his ribcage, threatening to tear him to pieces with the force of the emotion. He sort of liked it, the way it pounded and sang through his body, triumphantly announcing the happiness that ran unbounded through his being.

As he opened his mouth to attempt articulating his feelings in a way that was utterly negligent of grace, Zuko beat him to the punch.

"So now that there isn't a stalker anymore, are you staying at Gideon Security?"

"...No." He faltered. "I put my two weeks in the second his trial date was scheduled."

Zuko nodded, pale fingers tapping on the teacup quickly as he thought.

"And your plans? For when you're done?"

"I'll help my ma with the restaurant, help look after my family, I guess,"

Zuko kept nodding.

"It's just, I was thinking that well," he glanced at Jet as he tried to string his sentence together. "It'd be weird for you to move back in with your mom, you're too old for that, and she's too young," he stumbled through his words and Jet's heart slammed itself against his chest, taking inspiration from Muhammad Ali and giving his vascular health a run for its money.

"I mean, the dogs are here, and I'm here, and I know we haven't really talked about labels are anything because we both agreed they're stupid and everything, but at the same time, we're something, and I just thought now would be a good time to ask, and-"

"Zuko," Jet interrupted, wondering if he could stand to listen to more of his babbling.

"Yeah?" he sucked in a big breath after all his incessant talking.

"You don't have to justify it. Just ask me."

"Do you want to stay here? With me?"

"Move in?"

"Yes. Officially."

"And I won't have to sleep on the couch?" he couldn't help but tease, and Zuko rolled his eyes.

"No."

"You're sure about this? It isn't too much for you?" Jet didn't crowd Zuko's space, just leaned on the counter opposite of him, taking in the cut of his jaw and the ridge of his brow, the way his scar made him all the more astounding.

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's tough to find someone that knows how to take your tea, you know,"

Jet laughed, a sudden noise that made Zuko smile into his cup.

"You're impossible," he breathed, marveling at the man in front of him.

"You like it," Zuko teased. 

"You're right; I love it."

Zuko stilled, bonfire eyes landing on Jet.

"Is that a yes? You'll move in?"

"Yes. I'm not going anywhere," he replied, needing to swallow down the joy from his chest, his heart was pumping out too much of it.

"Promise?" Zuko whispered.

"I promise."

Zuko grinned at him from the brim of his mug, and Jet smiled back, and he knew that there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for that smile, even though it was a little broken and a little charred, it was still sunlight unfiltered.

And every part of Jet loved the warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How EVIL would I be to throw a 'mpreg' during the very last chapter? Keep the heart palpitations down, I'm not, but imagine the sadism required for that. I'm hysterically laughing at the thought of it.  
> This is the final chapter, there will be no more of these two wonderful lads. It hurts my heart to finish this story, I loved writing it so much, but for those that have been with me since the beginning in April, we both know that's it's been a struggle to get these last few chapters out, so it was time. Still doesn't hurt any less though. There's a good chance that there will be a bonus chapter in the future with the canon chapter that I had mentioned a while back, but don't expect it any time soon. I want that shit to be grade A quality to make up for everything this fic lacked.  
> I'm unsure if I will dabble in this fandom again, but this will not be my last fic.  
> Thank you, everyone. It's been an absolute dream writing this for you.


End file.
